


Hey Brother

by wonderfullyseldom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 60,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderfullyseldom/pseuds/wonderfullyseldom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has been a Hunter for 11 years and her experiences have been interesting. With each one, she gains new knowledge and understanding of the creatures she seeks out. Despite how much she's seen and heard, nothing compares to the Winchester brothers. Stories travel fast in the Hunter world and the brothers always seem to find themselves in the center of them. As she pairs with them to fight the world underneath, her buried past begins to surface. While trying to fight off her own demons, she must handle the Winchester's too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**This is my personal "rewrite" of Season 9 through the eyes of an original character. This is a completed work, even if all the Chapters are not posted. I post them as they're proofread. This is to give me time to read over any inconsistencies and do overall edits.</p>
<p>**I'll also post extended scenes of some of the already written ones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**Each Chapter title is after a song title I felt was fitting to the mood of the chapter. (Despite whatever the beat may be, the lyrics are what tell the story)</p>
<p>Work Title Song: Hey Brother by Avicii</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vox Populi

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is greatly appreciated as I'm doing this to develop my writing skill and style.

I had been having nightmares frequently. It was the same thing over and over, night after night. It got almost boring thinking about it, but I experienced them like they were new and fresh each time. They weren't even memories anymore. I was always brought to the beginning; an endless loop.

Then it would happen.

Everything would change and I'd wake up.

The worst part was -- the first realization that I'd have -- it all happened already and I'm still in a cheap motel room with a spring sticking in my back and a piss-stained pillow in my face.  
This job was never made to be glamorous. I wasn't warned of it, but I was never naive to what it would entail. Fort Sill was glamorous. A schedule, food, people, a small glimpse of normalcy before it was taken away on Galus Field. I was barely in diapers on base when my entire future dissipated in a single moment.

People die everyday, but the facade I lived in made it all bearable. What I was introduced to 11 years ago wiped away the make-up to reveal the pus-filled, diseased boil that was a true reality.  
I rose out of bed like any other day, with Chives licking my face and a box of strawberry oatmeal waiting for me. Cheap motels always had coffee pots, but they never worked, so it had been some time since I had a caffeine boost. The strawberry oatmeal wouldn't feed Chives. She hated strawberries. I'm not sure they were good for dogs anyhow. Aside from hunting demons, I had to hunt for food for her.

I'll never understand why she sticks with me, considering what I do, but I had met her about a year before and she hasn't left my side yet. She's a border collie that doesn't really stand out in color, size, or type. She's black and white and her eyes look like honey. She has breath like hell, but her teeth are white and she seems to be content. She has freedom to leave if she ever wants to, but with all we've seen together, she still licks my face in the morning and it keeps me sane.

The only problem at this point is -- I'm in Lebanon, Kansas. I hate the Northern states. I'm not a fan of the cold, but it seems, ironically, demons did not like the South, so my work kept me here. The cold always burned my lungs and I never had it in me to acclimate.

Being here was simple and never a choice I questioned. Hunting is all this life has for me, but along the way I've gotten opportunities to meet people who handled this side of the world pretty well. All this new side has shown me is that destiny, fate, luck, coincidence -- it's all irrelevant. Things happen and you deal with them as best you can. Sometimes the details behind the 'why' really aren't important. Things are just evil and sometimes they show up on your doorstep.

"She's been in there f-for two days now," Maggie said through tears.

"Has she spoken?" I asked.  
Maggie kept trying to catch her breath whilst struggling to articulate her thoughts.

This family had been affected before, but never by something at this level. Five years ago, I met Maggie, Dave, and their daughter, Sarah, when frequent sightings had surfaced in this city. Sarah had been speaking with a figure she could only describe as dark. He would speak softly to her, whispering commands and requests. Maggie was on her last ounce of strength when she woke to 11-year-old Sarah sitting on top of Dave, equipped with their butcher knife. They had sought help from a medium, who couldn't seem to get a good grasp at the situation. When mediums have trouble controlling an entity, they go one of two routes: a priest or a hunter.

Maggie shook her head at me and a scream echoed from atop the stairs and leaked down the steps that lead into the room I sat in. Sarah was fighting whatever it was inside her. When I met her initially, she had a strength about her that just seemed to glow. At that age, however, it's easy to manipulate that aura. Maggie had mentioned that Sarah struggled to come to terms with what happened when she was younger, but had become withdrawn lately.

I looked down at Chives and she gave a whimper. Chives was good with kids and very 'good' with demons. She never liked the two mixed. She stood up in anticipation knowing full well what we needed to begin working on.  
I placed a gloved hand on Maggie's shoulder.

"I'll get her back," I promised.

I kissed the top of her head and stood up to make my way up the staircase. Dave stayed with Maggie in waiting. These people trusted me to fix what some monster had broken. Making the walk up the staircase felt like the world had stopped all around me. I opened the door to Sarah's room slowly. No resounding creak. Just a silent, smooth swing to reveal the shattered pieces of furniture that sprinkled her blue carpet. She sat in the center of it all like a small child placed on time out. Her legs were crossed and she was still. She looked out, but not at anything in particular.

I looked down at Chives and gestured for her to stay by the door. I wasn't sure what I was dealing with, but I wouldn't risk her to find out. I stepped into the room slowly, testing each movement. Sarah didn't seem to notice, so I took a second step into the room. At the third, Sarah's blackened gaze fixed on me. It knew what I was and why I was here, but didn't bother to move to strike. I met its gaze and managed to make my way to stand in front of her. She finally began to vibrate like small muscle spasms had broken out along her limbs. She was fighting, harder than I had assumed she had the strength for. Sarah knew what was in her and she seemed to want it out. I wondered if she feared what she might do, just as she had when she was a child being controlled by the shadow.

I sat down in front of her and imitated her posture. There was nothing but black in her eyes. I took a moment to check her over, looking for any injuries or breaks. She did not look like the flowery 11-year-old I recalled when I first met her years ago. Her face was bare and the circles under her eyes had developed and darkened. There was no color in her lips or fingertips. Her hands sat on her knees and stretched out.  
Some commotion came from downstairs and she broke my gaze to look out the open door and into the hall. Chives began barking at the noises headed in our direction.

"Sarah," I said softly, focused on her.

Her head never turned to face me, but for a moment her eyes flickered white then back to black. She was in there and she was very aware of her surroundings. Chives continued to bark and two men appeared in the doorway, guns at the ready. They pointed them at Sarah, until they noticed me. Sarah took the open opportunity and lifted her hand. In one movement, she sent the two men flying back to the wall behind them. Chives struggled to keep herself out of the room as she paced and whimpered. She didn't enjoy not being in control of a situation or my condition.

"Sarah!" I spoke louder and her head whipped back to me. I moved my hands up slowly towards her face, gauging her reaction. Her face twisted in anger, but she did not resist me. I finally reached her cheeks and held her face tightly to keep her attention on me. There was more shuffling in the hall, but I needed her to be with me for the moment.

"Sarah!" I yelled again. Nothing.

"Sarah!" I projected more. There. There she was in the darkness of the thing staring back at me.

"Sarah," I breathed at her. She was still in there, whole. I brought our foreheads together to touch and I closed my eyes.

"I need you to hold on," I requested of the 16-year old prisoned inside. I could feel small twitches of struggle before I began speaking in a whisper.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus --"

Sarah began to tense each muscle in her body. Fight, I thought to her. I continued to recite the words and she grew aggressive. I moved back, but kept my hands on her cheeks. The demon looked back at me and placed its hands on mine. It tried to remove them, but I didn't let her go.

"Ab insidiis diaboli, libera now, Domine."

I began to raise my voice. Fight, I thought to her again. Black smoke billowed out of her mouth. Her head whipped back and her mouth extended. Sarah pushed and pushed and the smoke raced from her body. She screamed to exert it as I spoke my incantation louder and just as I finished, Sarah's eyes found their light. The smoke escaped the house and she limped over. I caught her as best I could. She was drenched in sweat and her skin remained pale. I kissed her forehead after watching her chest heave with life. Still breathing.

I turned to find those men standing in the doorway staring at me. Maggie and Dave tried to push past them, but they didn't budge. I stood and took Sarah's body with me in my arms. I cradled her with a bit of struggle.

"Do you have a fast car?" I asked them both hastily. They didn't answer with the same speed, but merely stared and nodded.

"We have to move. She doesn't have much left in her."

I pushed past them and pattered down the steps with weight in my feet. Someone had kicked in the front door and there was a bit of a struggle in the sitting room where I had spoken with Maggie. A black Impala sat in front of the house, parked lopsided against the street.

Good. They do have a fast car. I made my way to the black Chevy. The taller of the two had jogged up to pass me and open the back door. His partner went around to the drivers side to start the vehicle up. I placed Sarah's body in the seat as best I could and scooted in to lay her head on my lap. The taller one gestured to shut my door but I stopped him. I let out a whistle and Chives came running up to hop in the back with me. I nodded to signify he could now shut the door.

The driver turned and looked at Chives in annoyance. He didn't seem to like dogs.

"Not the time," I stated. With everyone settled in the vehicle, he took off toward the hospital. Maggie and Dave had packed in their vehicle and tried to follow behind, but our driver was going as fast as I needed him to.

Dave sat in the waiting room with his leg bouncing in restlessness. Maggie sat next to him, clearly out of tears, but stuck in her own head. Chives sat outside by the entrance, greeting the passing patients and visitors, surely enticing the interested parties, with her puppy eyes, to come by and pet her. I stood against the wall of the waiting room, staring at the floor. I felt lighter without my gear, but they wouldn't have let me in with a gun strapped to my thigh or a machete hanging from my back. The two men kept moving into my view badgering me with questions.

"What was that?" the shorter one asked. He looked rugged and aged in comparison to his counterpart. The taller one just stood next to him, staring down at me. He seemed to have a courtesy the other did not, but I knew I'd be hearing from him at some point. I took a moment to look each of them over, taking in their defining features, their stances, their clothing, and even the tone of the one verbally poking at my patience.

"That demon," he whispered, "is still prancing about. Why didn't you kill it?"

My eyes put the atmosphere into view and shifted their gaze to his face. He looked simply exhausted. His face was drawn and tired. His eyes had a flicker in them, but of something that struggled to stay lit.

"Ask me that again and I will stab you," I responded quietly and hoped the promise in my eyes pierced him. Killing a demon meant killing its host and all Hunters knew this.

His eyes widened and he pressed his lips together at the struck nerve, but stepped away. I moved my focus back to the hallway where I awaited the sight of a doctor.

Finally, as they moved from blocking my view, a doctor approached us confused at the amount of people that stood before him and the array of genres they seemed to be sporting.

"Sarah Ackler," he said, looking around to each of us. Maggie and Dave stood up quickly and moved to be at my side. I had taken a step toward him, ready to answer the questions I knew they could not.

"Are you family?" he asked me.

"I am," I said quickly. "How is she?"  
He ignored my question and looked at Maggie and Dave behind me.

"Parents?" he asked them. They both nodded in response. He looked over at the other two men and didn't bother to ask any questions.

"She has a few broken ribs and a bruised lung. She's awake now, but we've given her something for the pain. We need to ask," he said, looking at each of us. "What exactly happened?"  
These were the kind of questions that I was here to answer. Maggie and Dave looked at each other, searching for something that would fit with her injuries, but found nothing.

"Climbing trees," I filled the silence. "Sarah and I were climbing trees in our yard like we used to do when we were younger and she lost her footing and fell."

The doctor eyed me, but accepted the lie and gestured us to follow him to see her, leaving the two accompanying misfits to stand abandoned in the waiting room.

 

\------------------

Talking the Ackler's through was a difficult task. They had only experienced mild things years ago, but nothing like this before. I had never revealed to them anything darker than ghosts or shadows. It was a mistake I shouldn't have allowed. Children that see spirits as clearly as Sarah did when I was first called to her home, are sought after by darker things. Demons seek these special kids out to manipulate and corrupt them. They are difficult to possess, but if it comes to pass, they can become strong demons themselves. It's the way demons prefer to build their army. I explained what to expect over time and it left the Ackler's silenced. I knew as well as any hunter, Demons never simply left things alone.

Sarah wasn't happy to see me go, but I never stayed in one place for too long. I hugged her, shook Maggie and Dave's hands and left them.

 

The waiting room was still occupied by the two brutes I had dealt with earlier. I rolled my eyes at the exhaustion I felt in having to endure them. They stood together like a doorway and I pushed past them without speaking and they followed.

"What do you want?" I stopped and turned to face them. They stared down at me.

"You have some explaining," the shorter one demanded.  
I laughed and turned to continue my bee-line for their black Impala with Chives following by me. I did not have the energy to do this. I wanted to get my gear and get to my motel room, pack my things and get out of this damn state.

"Hey, Hey," he called after me.

"Stop," he demanded. I continued to walk. I heard the two argue in whispers, then a patter of feet. The taller one caught up and stuck to my pace. He spoke calmer than his partner.

"Look, we just want to talk."

I finally stopped and looked up at him. He was at least a head and a half taller than me. His face was younger, but his eyes drowned in whatever burdens he had picked up along the way.  
"That's all you had to say, but you owe us dinner," I said.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title:  
> Vox Populi by 30 Seconds to Mars


	2. 2  My Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gives a glimpse of her knowledge in the Hunter World. We meet a new unknown villain.

It had been so long since I had a decent meal, if you qualify a crap diner in the middle of Kansas a decent meal. I wasn't paying for it, so I enjoyed it as much as any other full meal I had ever had. I placed a piece of plain burger in front of Chives who sat next to me in the booth. When I finally looked up to take a breath from stuffing my face, they were just staring at me. I put my fork down with a clatter and wiped my mouth and hands.

"Okay. What?" I said, picking the excess food from my teeth with my tongue.  
They stared at me for a moment longer before the taller one spoke up.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"We're hunters."

"We?"

"This is Chives. She's a big baby, but a helpful sidekick." 

She looked over at me and tilted her head before going back to licking the plate in front of her. The answer didn't seem to satisfy because they just continued to stare. I rolled my eyes. I hated these awkward introductions when it came to pairing up with other hunters. This one in particular was unnecessary because the situation had been handled.

"You're Sam and Dean Winchester," I said abruptly.

"I've heard your story. You two hold hands and skip through hell like it's a flowery field of dreams, teasing the monsters under our beds until they come crawling out. Then you kill whatever it is that surrounds you with no regard for casualties."

Dean twisted his face in anger, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He clenched his jaw and stayed locked in his silence. Sam looked down at the table like I had slapped the back of his hand for bad behavior.

"So that's what you know of us?" Sam asked, still staring at the chipped wood. 

"No," I said. They both looked up at me baffled. 

"I don't know anything about you except that you're hunters. The thing I know about hunters is that what we do isn't easy. I've heard my fair share of stories with you two dead center of it all -- no pun intended -- but I know that as hunters, we do what we can for the thing we understand to be bigger than us."  
Neither of them responded, but their expressions had softened.

Both of them seemed burdened, more than any other hunter I had ever come across. I knew the stories, but they were only that and stories always warped to meet feed our own needs. The Winchesters, in the hunter world, were considered a plague and they were to be avoided at all costs or killed, if possible.

"So walk us through what happened," Sam asked.

"Sarah's an old case I had five years ago. A spirit trapped in the home, desperate to wreak havoc and preying on a little girl. They called a medium, but whatever it was that attached itself to Sarah was much stronger than they could handle. Yada yada yada -- I got called and handled it."

"And this time around?"

"Well, the Acklers are friends and I happened to be in town."

"Sarah doesn't seem so random," Sam deduced.

"She wasn't. Sarah was born to be a medium, just like her grandmother, Maggie's mother. She has the ability, but she fears it. Maggie had mentioned she's been struggling lately and that's a beacon for demons."

"A beacon for demons?" Dean finally seemed to join us.

"Mediums always are."  
They looked at each other then back at me.

"You two need to study more. All mediums go through the same process. At a young age, we're open to the veil, the other side, if you will. Some children close off in fear, others face it, some are forced into it. Being open to that world leaves you open to the others, too. In the teenage years, a medium is truly tested in strength. They tend to be sought out by spirits, but depending on their strength, sometimes it's a demon that comes knocking. Mediums basically wear a 'Possess me' sign all the time."

It would have been so easy for Sarah to be taken. Maggie had mentioned how distanced she became.

"Most mediums don't make it past the adolescence stage. It's a time where they are emotionally and mentally vulnerable. They either give in to fear or evil, but those that do push past it still have to deal with stage 2 in their teenage years. That's where Sarah's at."

"You've spent a lot of time around mediums, I guess," Sam said.

"Sure," I brushed off. I eyed the two of them. They were working me over for more information as most hunters do and I wasn't giving it willingly enough.

"Show me," I demanded. They seemed confused. "The tattoo's. Show me."

They simultaneously pulled their shirt collars down to reveal the star wrapped in a circle of fire. I stood up and reached over the table to scratch at their skin.

"Hey!" Dean yelped. "What the hell?"

I scratched at Sam's and sat back down.

"Just checking."

They covered their tattoos back up and stared at me expectantly. I stood up and lifted the hem of my shirt, turning to my side. My tattoo sat comfortably on my hip. I didn't have it in me to place it directly on my chest, but that fear of pain had long been outweighed since then.

The Winchesters were known for being thorough hunters and they didn't disappoint. Any other hunter would have left me in the hospital parking lot the minute they dropped us off. We weren't a group for being in the light, but these two seemed to be unafraid. It was dangerous. They were dangerous to be around. All my years spent staying in the shadows, only coming out when it was necessary. To fight the things we fight, we must live in their environment, but in light of the recent Angel issue, it seemed almost impossible. They weren't what we thought and so another enemy had emerged.

"You're looking for it, aren't you?" I asked, staring at them. They both looked at each other again. They didn't seem to talk much, but just exchanged looks and annoying silent signals. It was the only thing that gave away that they had worked together for so long, but nothing about them really shouted 'brothers.' They sat next to each other like strangers on a bus. 

I had opened my mouth to explain, but Chives pawed at my thigh and it stopped me. I closed my mouth and kept my calm. I feared my question would be answered. Chives could always smell when a demon was around, but whatever this was had her beneath the table. She knew her limits and she knew my limits for her. 

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my black glove, slipping it onto my hand. Sam and Dean had watched us carefully before finally catching on to the thick air now filling the diner.

Every patron had black eyes and they were fixed on us. We stood slowly, pushing our chairs out from underneath us, the wooden legs screeching against hardwood floors. None of the patrons moved to stand with us. Alarmingly calm.

Their heads turned to face the main door in the diner, the bell above it ringing. A tall, lanky figure strolled in, his steps clicking against the floor in a steady pace. He had a strange pep in his step that I hadn't seen on most creatures. Most carried their corruption like a weight, but this one carried it like a gift. He was smiling, a wide tooth-filled grin.

We turned to face him. He began to chuckle a bit before looking up at us, where the enjoyment was very clear on his face. None of us seemed to recognize him and the tension in our ready stances were clear.

"Now now," he said. He sounded almost gentlemanly when he spoke, like we had offended him with our aggressive posture.

"That is no way to treat a guest." His smirk was sly and attractive and beginning to crawl under my skin. He fixed his stare on me.

"My dear Emma," he said slowly, almost surprised. Sam and Dean turned to look at me. How did he know me?  
I made efforts to keep my name off demon and hunter tongues alike. It's why Sam and Dean didn't know who I was. They knew now.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know who you are," I said casually. He just kept smiling and staring.

"That's alright. You, I promise, will come to know me."

 

I don't know how long I would have focused on him before Chives brought me back to the now with her growling. Without my noticing, she had made her position next to me, teeth exposed and growling from the deepest part of her gut. The slender man looked down at her and his smile faded. He knelt down a little to sit at her level and her growling grew darker. I focused back on him and moved my hand to the small part of the handle sticking out of the collar of my jacket. I gripped it tight and pulled it from it's sheath. I lowered it in front of me slowly to demonstrate the clear consequences that he would suffer if he thought to attack.  
The blade was used and aged, but sharp. The handle had just been replaced and it still felt foreign in my grasp. I hadn't broken it in completely yet, but there were no shortage of uses for it. The man saw my intentions and stood again. His posture was impeccable and his movements smooth. I was comfortable having his attention, but Chives' continuing growl did not help.

His smile returned and he focused again on me. 

"I look forward to our next meeting." He nodded slightly at me, shifted his eyes to Dean and Sam then turned to leave. Before we could completely gather our thoughts on what had just happened, the diner seemed to play again in its normalcy. The woman at the counter screamed at the sight of my machete. I sheathed it quickly and tried to calm her, but Dean threw down a few $20 dollar bills and shuffled us out of the diner. 

 

 

"Explain. Now" he demanded from the drivers seat. I had no explanation for him. I had no idea of what had just occurred. I said nothing to him as I slipped each finger from the glove and it only frustrated him more. He hit the steering wheel and muttered under his breath. He didn't like not having answers apparently, but I didn't either. 

"Emma," a softer voice spoke. I turned from looking out the window to find Sam staring at me. "We're just trying to figure out what's going on."

I stared past him as I searched my own head. I filed through memories of hunts, hunters, stories, lore, and myth to get an inkling of who it was calling me out in that diner. I had nothing. I shook my head at him and he nodded in return.

"Well, we know what was causing the spike, at least," Sam said.

"And we know why its here," Dean added, referring to its interest in me. "But we don't know who or what it is or how long it plans on sticking around or what it wants with her."

He was right. We didn't know anything important except for its interest. It itched at my skin. Why would I be known to him? Why would we be meeting again? 

The rest of the drive back to the Ackler house was quiet and tense. I mindlessly pet Chives head as she slept. Encountering monsters never phased her, but it always tuckered her out.

Dean stopped in the suburban neighborhood, parking on the other side of the street to the Ackler home. I took out my age-old flip phone and called the police.

"I'd like to report a break in at 1425 Spencer Avenue." I hung up and placed the phone in my pocket. At least the insurance would cover the demon and Winchester damage.

"You two should probably go. They'll be here in 10 minutes."

"Where are you going?" Dean asked. He had finally seemed to calm. 

"Hopefully, I'll be leaving this town tonight."

Dean turned sharply to look at me. "You can't leave yet. Whatever this thing is and whatever it wants with you -- we need to be on it."

"I can handle it. Thank you for your warmth," I snapped. Chives and I exited the car and I was sure to slam the door. I didn't bother to look back as Dean swore at me and I didn't bother to say much else in response. I just walked in the late cold night back to my motel.

 

 

When we arrived, I could think of nothing more than the warmth of the room and comforting springs that would stick in my back as I lay on the bed. My body felt weighed, but my eyes seemed to fear the dark. Sleep was not as restful lately and I was beginning to fear what I would see. I undid the gun strap on my thigh and sat my pistol on the table along with its holster. Maybe I could clean it. I needed something to pass the time. 

Chives jumped on the bed and curled up to sleep. Today was long for her, but she pushed through. Today was long for both of us. I placed my machete on the table, as well, and sat down. I examined the handle and it's markings. The blade had served me well in the past years and had saved my life many times. I placed it down and picked up my gun, pulling it apart. I rolled out my cleaning supplies and began to scrub and wipe each piece down. There was nothing unique about my gun, but I wasn't much of a gun-toter anyhow. I enjoyed my knives too much and it seemed I had a tall, slender, big-grinning reason to use them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title:  
> My Medicine by The Pretty Reckless


	3. 3  Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reveal a bit of Emma's past. The Winchesters show signs of struggle within their relationship when Emma and Dean come to odds after the Winchesters help her in a battle.

_I was already late for training and I had every obstacle standing in my way. Building after building and all full of upper ranks waiting to trap me in for disciplinary action. I was going to have my ass handed to me if I didn't arrive on time, but I'd have my ass handed to me on my trek there if I didn't find an obstacle-free route. It wouldn't be pretty, but cutting through the field between the buildings would be an option. They do training exercises there, but I'd have about 10 minutes after they cleared the field. I didn't think about it much longer before bolting free. I ran between buildings to keep out of sight of the other recruits leaving and coming to their classes._

_I would hear plenty from Kate, too. I could only picture her standing in class, her uniform perfectly pressed and her boots unscathed, shaking her blonde head at me. I swear she was the cleanest person on base. She got on well with her Sergeants and moved up quickly and respectfully. It was a wonder she fell for a misfit like myself. I was unworthy of her and I knew it. She knew it. She had to have known it. I couldn't fathom the idea of her being insane enough to really love me.  
The field was empty just as I thought it would be. I checked the surroundings before beginning to jog my way across. Just as I reached the middle, I was knocked to the ground with a force that could only be my childish mate, Riley. _

_Private James Riley had trained with me from Day one and he was the first friend I made outside of the life I had left behind. He was indifferent to race and gender, but you were only an equal if you could match his strength or humor. I happily outweighed both of those in our relationship, but he took every opportunity to win his title back._

_As I let my head settle from the thud, I made out Riley's figure standing up and offering a hand. I smacked his hand out from in front of me and he laughed._

_"Dammit Riley! Are you fucking kidding me?"_

_"Where are you headed off to in such a hurry?"_

_"I'm late, you ass."_

_"Aww, isn't that how it always is? Are you ever actually on time? For Christ's sake, you almost didn't make it to your sisters funeral on time."_

_My sisters not-- I looked up at him in confusion, but something in his eyes flickered. I blinked at him and recalled his comment._

_"Are you drunk?" I asked. He laughed again._

_I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned quickly. Kate._

_"What are you doing out here?" I asked her. For a moment, I could have sworn her eyes went black before she hit me across the face._

 

*******************

 

I wasn't usually a deep sleeper when I did manage to get rest, but whatever it was about the day had weighed on me just as it had on Chives. I woke to her barking, loud and with malicious intent. I focused quickly on my surroundings, slipping my glove on, and picked up my machete while my gun still laid in pieces on the table. Chives was in a defensive stance and staring at the door to our motel. Her low-bellied growls and my steady breathing were all that sounded in the room. 

I walked to the door and stepped in front of her. As I turned the knob and pulled the door open, she pushed past me, digging her nose in the small space and using the rest of her body to slither out. She took off running into the blackened forest that our room faced at the back of the motel. The lot was dark, only every other streetlight lighting the spot below it.

"Chives!" I called after her. It wasn't like her to run off without me or my say so. Whatever it was she saw or heard didn't spook her, but seemed to intrigue her. Raccoons were common in the area and tended to venture close to the rooms, but she wasn't one for chasing things unless she was foraging. It hadn't been anything she did with me around either. Chives always hunted on her own whenever we were short on food. 

I picked up my machete's sheath, hung it off my back and slid my blade in. I put on an extra jacket and jogged after her into the cold dark.

Twigs cracked beneath my feet and I could only make out what little was visible a few feet in front of me. The moon was glowing, but it didn't breach the trees enough for me to be able to focus.

"Chives!" I called again. A resounding crack caught my attention off in the distance, then a pattering of feet. Whatever it was moved away from me. I squinted my eyes and tried to stretch my vision, but only blackness surrounded me. How deep did she drag me in here?

"Chi-" I began to yell, but her barking just northeast of where I was, cut me short. I tried to walk quickly through the mess of bushes and broken tree. 

"Chives!" I yelled again. A loud yelp and whimper echoed in the forest and I lost sense of her direction. I moved quicker in the only direction I was sure of. I had only taken a few steps before I was tackled to the ground with such force that the wind kicked out of me. Pain radiated in flurries throughout my rib cage. I gasped for air as I let the feeling settle. Can't have an easy night, can I?

Large white, slobber-ridden teeth bared at me and big, yellow eyes bore into me. It growled loudly and pushed down on me to come in for a bite. I put my forearm up to catch it's neck and control its distance from my face. Saliva dripped on my cheek and rolled off, tickling my skin. I wiggled my legs to free them and curl them up. Mustering up all the energy I had, I kicked off, launching its body off and feeling the freed air rush around me. I wasn't being turned tonight and I needed to get to Chives. My nerves seared and my heart beat unevenly as I stood unsteadily. I pulled my machete out from my back and held it in place anticipating its projection. It came back at me with full force and my blade dug into its chest. The realization registered on the creatures face and I looked into it. It's dead weight leaned in on me, sending me tumbling back. The rocks and broken earth below me dug its jagged edges into my skin and the pain echoed inside me.

I pushed its body off of me with a grunt and lay there for a moment to catch my breath, but more growling echoed in the trees around me. There were more of them out there. I stood and brushed the excess leaves and dirt off of me. Looking down at the creature, I placed my foot on its head and moved it to observe the features. It wasn't anyone I had ever come across previously. The silver in my blade took it down, but it was large. Werewolves were not as typical as the movies would depict. They kept their human features in a morphed sense, but their teeth and claws were sharp and glistening. What are werewolves doing out in the middle of this ho-dunk town? What are they looking for?

I kept my blade out and continued on in the same direction. My vision had adjusted to the night and I could make out figures of trees further out. My ears and eyes felt sharp and I tracked every outline and sound. 

I didn't encounter any until I came to a small pile of white fur. The black in her hair had meshed with the ground; she almost didn't look like a whole animal. Parts of the white were drenched in blood.  
Don't be dead. It was the only thing I could think. She caught my scent and her eyes opened a bit. She let out a whimper and I knelt beside her. Her belly was ripped. No bite.

"I'm here," I said softly, petting her head. She began to whimper a little more as crackling in the ground sounded all around us. I scanned the area and noticed 3 or 4 large figures on the outskirts of the small patch of open land we were in. I stood slowly and gripped my machete. I placed my hand on my thigh, but felt nothing. I could really use my gun right about now.

I backed away from Chives. I couldn't let her get caught in the middle and worsen her condition. I could see teeth and eyes glowing around me and they boiled something deep inside me. They had hurt my partner and she could die if I didn't get her help soon.

I circled the blade in the air and brought it upright again. I let out a teasing whistle and it was enough for one of them to launch at me with full speed. I turned on my toe and brought the blade high in the air and swooped it. The creature stopped upon impact and its body fell to the ground, its detached head tumbling next to it. I dug my blade deep into its heart, letting the slice echo around me. The remaining three took only a moment before they roared into the night sky and launched at me, nails at the ready and teeth glistening.

I flattened my feet and bent a little at the knees to hold my steady stance. I heard a shot ring out and one werewolf went down off to the side of me. I gauged which other wolf was closest and launched off the ground to run at it, blade ready. I jumped off the log that sat between us and hurdled in the air to drive my blade deep into its chest. The log broke beneath my foot from rot and I came up short as the blade connected with its body. I lost my grip and tumbled to the ragged ground beneath me, landing on my side. Upon crashing, my ribs beat against a larger branch that lay on the ground. I could feel the crack and I gasped a bit for air.

The creature roared in pain, trying to pull the blade from its chest. The silver coating sizzled on his hands, ensuring the steady position of my machete. It bent down at me to growl and I brought my foot up to kick the handle of the blade. It pushed further into his chest and upward just enough to reach its heart. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. 

As I gathered myself from the blow, I bent my head up to find the last werewolf closing in on me. I couldn't reach my blade from where I lay and I felt a moment of tension in preparation for the mauling I was about to experience. Instead the creature stopped short and stiffened. It fell to its knees and crashed the top half of its body onto my legs. A small blade stuck out of its back. 

I shuffled and drew the machete from the body next to me and sat up to scan the forest. Two figures walked at me from the dark and moved into the moonlight.

Fucking Winchesters.  
I sighed. Dean pulled the erect blade out of the creatures back and shoved its lifeless body off to the side. Sam offered his hand and I took it. I winced as I pulled myself up forgetting the soreness in my side. I wiped my blade off on my shirt and sheathed it. Every movement from here on out would be pain for me. I moved past them.

"A 'thank you' would be nice," Dean called after me.  
I knelt down where I had left Chives and her eyes didn't open again. I struggled to pick her up, but I held her as steady as I could. 

"Dean, get your car. Now."

 

I hated the smell of hospitals and Veterinarians were no exception. I sat in the corner of the waiting room staring at the small table of magazines that were neatly displayed. It was a different world we lived in, like we had washed out all the color. In this moment, I was just relieved 24-hour Vet hospitals existed in small towns like this. I stared at the big digital clock on the wall above the receptionist's desk. In bright red numbers, it reminded me that it was only five in the morning. Chives had been bleeding for at least two and a half hours, but I was only calculating from the time I heard her yell out in the dark.

"Well, aren't you on your way to becoming prom queen?" he spoke in a low, stern voice. I didn't look at him as he pulled me from my thoughts.

"Dean, not now," Sam said.

The Doctor came out looking sullen, but when I stood she smiled slightly.  
"She'll be okay."

My eyes watered a little, but I couldn't do this now. I cleared my throat and nodded at her.

"She'll have to stay. We want to make sure she handles the meds well, then we can release her for at-home recovery after that. She lost a bit of blood, but she was very lucky."

I nodded again. I didn't have it in me to speak. The Doctor's expression turned to suspicion.  
"She was attacked by an animal, you say?"

"Yes," Sam said quickly. "She got out of the house and ran into the woods. We didn't see what did it, we just brought her here as quickly as we could."

The Doctor accepted the answer and nodded. It was technically the truth, but the Doc's eyes were set on Sam so I'm not sure she heard much.  
"We'll call you if anything comes up, but we're expected to release her in two days."

"Thank you," Sam answered for me again.

 

 

The moment we piled into the Impala, Dean started with his questions.

"Are you just a magnet for this crap?" he said. "Three times in one day isn't exactly a good sign."  
I stared out the window at the passing trees as he continued to pack on question and speculation.

"Stop the car," I spoke lightly at first.

"What?" I redirected Dean's thoughts.

"Stop the car!" I threw my glove down on top of my sheathed blade sitting next to me. Everything had festered inside me and the vehicle closed it all in.

The Impala screeched to a stop in the middle of the empty street. I opened the door and got out, slamming it shut. I was ready to explode. I had never been so close to losing Chives and I had no idea what was going on around me. I didn't know why I was of any interest to a creature I had never met before.

"Come on!" Dean yelled, slamming his own door as he stood staring at me with his hands on his hips. He was scolding me because I was annoying him. I didn't like being treated like a child. I turned to face him and met his stare.

I balled my fist and swung at his face, connecting with his cheekbone. My knuckle cracked a bit and pain pulsed through my hand and up my arm. The pressure from my ribs turned to flame and the two degrees of discomfort met in the middle and sat in my lungs. He stepped back from the blow, but he took it well. Sam had gotten out of the car and stood by his door, observing. He didn't step in or protest.

I stared at Dean expecting full well that he'd return the hit. I had hoped for it. Maybe it would settle something inside me. Maybe it would release the boiling energy I had in me. He wasn't happy with me, but honestly it made no difference. He was nothing but bottled anger and self-hatred in a denim jacket. He balled his fist up, but he didn't swing. He seemed to breath a bit and relax. He just nodded at me and got back in the car. I tried to take a full breath, but the sore muscle on my side stretched and it sent pulses of pain. I looked up at Sam who was still staring me. His eyebrows were together, but the rest of his face was relaxed. He wasn't angry or defensive or even slightly bothered that I had just decked his brother. He looked sympathetic, sad even. I couldn't place it, but I relaxed at the sight. 

We got back in the car and headed back to the spot in the forest where we had tussled with the wolves. I questioned my sense of direction when we arrived at the small opening. 

"Where are the bodies?" Sam asked. We took steady steps to find evidence of the event, but we only found the small spots of blood that marked each spot in death. It was the same in the area where I had encountered the first werewolf. Whatever was going on made less sense the more we were dragged into it.

We eventually gave up the search and walked back to my motel room, but when we arrived, the lining on my door was cracked in. I took out my machete, Dean with his gun, and Sam with his. I pushed the door open slowly, but the room was dark. I went to step in, but Dean placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. He readied his gun and stepped ahead of me. I followed second and Sam kept watch on the lot as he came into the room last. Dean flicked the switch on the wall and the room lit up. Nothing was out of place. Not even the pieces of my gun I had left out to clean, but up on the wall above the bed was large red spray-painted lettering:  
"RAGNAROK"

Dean did a full search of the rest of the motel room, but Sam stood behind me and stared at the wall. I had no connections forming in my head as to why this would be written above the headboard of my motel room. Sam closed the main door, but it didn't latch. When Dean emerged from checking the bathroom, he kept his gun pointed at me. I moved off to the side by the table. When I turned to look at Sam, he had suspicion in his face and his gun pointed in my direction as well. Whatever it was they thought I had a hand in, they both knew something about it -- much more than I did.

"Sit," Dean demanded. He motioned his gun to the bed and I did as he said. Sam pulled out a pair of handcuffs and locked me to the cheap bedpost. I didn't argue and I didn't tense. It never helped in situations like this, so I remained calm. They pulled the two chairs up and sat, guns still in hand.

"What is this?" Dean asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said. He rolled his eyes at me.

"It's written on the wall of your motel room."

"Well, I didn't put it there."

"Then who did?" Sam added.

"How should I know? I was a bit busy out in the middle of nowhere." A realization had hit me.

"How did you two find me?" I eyed each of them suspiciously, but they both just looked to one another. More silent exchanges.

"We, uh, followed you," Sam said.

"Creepy."

"Today has been a bit weird and you were personally visited by that demon. Can you really blame us for not trusting you?" Dean argued.

I couldn't blame them. I would have done the same if the situation were reversed, but I was stuck in my own confusion that I never caught on.

"So what exactly does it mean?" I asked looking up at it. The spray paint had long since dried and nothing in the room was missing. This was a lot of trouble to go through just for vandalism.

"Ragnarok," Sam said, "is Norse mythology."

"I'm aware of that much," I said. "Why is Norse mythology plastered on the wall?"

"It's a rebirth of the world," Sam continued. "A plan to destroy any and everything so it can be jump started again and made into whoever's image. We came across a rather unique pack --" Sam and Dean exchanged looks again. "There was mention of Ragnarok."

"So -- what? A bunch of werewolves want to take over the world?"

Sam shrugged at the idea, but nodded. "That seemed to be the plan."

"Seemed to be?" I asked, looking at the both of them.

"Well, we're not sure how far in they were or who else was involved."

"We eliminated the most enthusiastic participants," Dean added.

I nodded in understanding, but switched to confusion, jiggling the cuff on my wrist. "So why am I still locked up here?"

 

With another exchange of looks and a silent consensus, I was freed. My gun still sat in pieces and I put it back together quickly. A skill I was glad to have picked up years ago when things were more normal. I packed what little I had while Sam and Dean stood outside. There voices beat against the door softly as they argued about something indistinguishable. I had to move motels if I was going to avoid whatever it was that had my scent. There wasn't much of a way to do that with werewolves, but upgrading would serve well for security. Upgraded living meant more money to spend, but also twice as many occupants. Blending in might not be such a bad idea.

I opened the door of the motel room to find both of them standing there. I sighed. They had certain things they did that were on repeat and this was one of them. The double door brothers. They only stared at me.

"What?"  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title:  
> Hurt by Nine Inch Nails


	4. 4 Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma meets 'The Bunker' but it's not as cozy as one would think.

I didn't much enjoy the idea of being kidnapped, but I had technically agreed to their arguments of my safety and figuring out what my part in Ragnarok would be. Although, I hadn't consented to the holy water thrown in my face or the precautionary shackles they decided to trap me in. We pulled up to a large abandoned warehouse from the long dirt road we had travelled through. I'm not sure what I anticipated the famous Winchesters to be living in, but this setting somehow didn't surprise me.

The rust coated the entire exterior of the building and not one window was left whole. It looked as if some strong winds had coasted through the top floor, exposing its insides. This was not ideal, not in comparison to my dirty motel.

Dean drove us into a narrow, dark tunnel that didn't seem to go anywhere until a large door opened before us. It led into an underground garage door that opened to a glittering showroom of vehicles from different decades. It wasn't what I was expecting, but I'm not really sure what I thought it might be. It was a fully decked out mechanics wet dream. Every tool and liquid you could possibly need to fully restore a vehicle and keep it running for years. That room was only the start of this underground fortress. They called it the 'Bunker.'

Each room served a purpose and all layered with an even sitting of dust. There were multiple rooms setup along a wide corridor, with bedding and small furniture for short or extended stays. They were simple and plain, sufficient to house multiple people. Sam and Dean dropped my bags in one of the empty rooms and walked me to the main area where a large metal table sat in the center. It had a map laid out and small bulbs in various areas. The room was freckled with buttons, blinking and operating against a machine I couldn't see. I couldn't begin to fathom what was connected to what, but I didn't have a desire to touch any of them either. Along the wall we had just emerged from, a staircase led to a narrow balcony that only had one door. 

In the next room ahead, a couple steps up, a few cherry wood tables were laid out with multiple chairs. On the walls, each stood a library of books, their spines displaying titles of the occult and mythological nature. Sam mentioned they were encyclopedia's of information collected by a group called the Men of Letters. Dean shot him a look and it was the last I had heard of it.

The bunker was clean, save for a few books laid out on the table. It had an apocalyptic feel to it and I'm sure it would be able to serve as a fort if we were to ever need one and it seemed that is exactly what they were using it as. It was a headquarters that seemed to hold every piece of knowledge a hunter could possibly need. 

A strip of tile lay between the two areas, showcasing a repeating devils trap pattern. There were warding sigils and devil traps neatly aligned along the walls above the bookshelves. This was not just a facility for research, this was a fort and there was no fear of anything getting in -- or out.  
I hadn't noticed my mouth gaping until I settled heavily into a leather chair in the corner of the room. The sound of my cuffs jingled in my slump and it felt as though it echoed in my brain. This was something I had never seen and something I never thought existed. This was the mother-load and the Winchesters _lived_ here.

"A lot to take in, I know," Sam said, sitting at the table stacked with books. 

"A bit," I replied. I couldn't stop observing the area around me. It was absolute insanity. The amount of books and ancient computers that sat around in this building were only a small portion of it according to Sam. 

"So are these necessary still?" I asked, lifting my wrists. "If I was anything, I'm not sure I would have survived in here this long."

They looked at each other for a long moment, before Dean nodded. Sam picked the key out of his pocket and unlocked my chains. My wrists hadn't been entrapped long, but they still felt the soreness from the tightening. I couldn't help approaching each shelf with wonder. They were perfectly alphabetized and it made me wonder if Sam or Dean had taken the time to do this or if they were just taking the effort to preserve it.

 

Dean had left long ago to sleep, but Sam sat at the table closest to me and searched through, glancing up every so often. He was keeping watch on me. 

"I'm a prisoner, aren't I?" I asked, still running my hands along the books.

He didn't speak, but I could feel him looking at me. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then." I picked up an encyclopedia titled simply, 'Events P - T' and added it to the stack in my hand. 

"We don't exactly know who you are," he finally said. I dropped the pile on the table in front of him and sat. "Yet you know who we are."

"Well, that isn't a difficult quest." I sorted the books and opened them to designated pages. "You two aren't exactly subtle. I mean, how many times has your mug shown up on National News? You've been pronounced captured or dead quite a few times, but how you managed that, I'll never know."

"I don't have an explanation for it either," he said sifting through pages. He looked up for a moment at me. 

"How long have you been in this?"

"Probably about as long as you."

"Then how have we never met or heard of you?"

"Because I like to keep it that way. If I played it your way, I'd be all over the news too; hunted by monsters and well, other hunters."

"So much that did for you," he snarked. I looked up at him and studied him for a moment. What I knew of these two were only stories, word-of-mouth and what managed to make it to the papers or news. "I guess that wasn't fair," he said. 

"Sam," I sighed. "It probably doesn't hold much weight because we don't know each other, but I am telling the truth. I don't know who that demon was or who sent him. I don't know why I was attacked by a bunch of werewolves. I don't know why I'm any kind of target."

"She'll be okay, you know," he said, looking up at me. "That wasn't your fault."

"It sure feels like it is." I put my head in my hands and rubbed my eyes.

"Welcome to the hit list," he said slightly smiling.

Sam studied his pages and he was concentrated, but he looked tired and aged. They had probably done this as long as I had and I wondered if I looked the way they did. I didn't look in the mirror often, but there wasn't much of a point to. The last time I had, it ended up shattered along with the bottle I had taken up as a friend. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes.

"You're keeping watch, aren't you?" I asked. He looked up at me and his eyes were bloodshot. "You can't sleep until I do." He didn't answer my question, but I knew it was the plan they had in mind. He almost seemed to glare as I caught on.

"All right," I stretched. "What dungeon are you putting me in for the night?"

Sam didn't seem to laugh, but rather looked guilty. _Could there truly be a dungeon in here?_ Then the doubt disintegrated.

 

******************

 

_I was down for the count. I knew Kate had strength in her, but whatever she mustered up was double what I thought she was capable of. She had never hit me before except in combat training, but she wasn't even supposed to be out here. She was supposed to be in our class, shaming the other soldiers and raising the standards of what true honor is._

_I tasted copper and grass and her skin. I tried to focus on the sights closest to me, but it took me a moment to differentiate the individual grass blades. When I finally did, I was hit again. My gut felt like boiling water and my organs felt mashed inside me. I tried to cough the pain out, but it didn't subside. I swore I heard another voice._

__Davidson?

_I hoped to be hallucinating the sound of soldiers I had trained with. The vulgarity and hate they spewed at me. These weren't the people I had come to trust with my life. A glob of blood dripped from my mouth and they finally gave me a moment to collect myself. I heard the barrel slide back and click before the cold hit my temple. Kate's hand gripped the handle and she followed me as I got to my feet. She was smiling at me. Genuinely smiling, just as I had seen her do when we first caught glimpse of each other upon our first meeting. She looked simply infatuated, but her pupils pooled and the black leaked out to cover the remaining color her in eyes and I could only see my darkened reflection in them._

 

*******************

 

Sam and Dean had quite the setup, but I hadn't counted on them locking me in my own temporary room every night. It made escaping my own head a harder task.  
I sat on the end of my bed fearing I would sink into the memory foam that beckoned me, but I just kept recalling the other night. I needed to look into this 'Ragnarok' plan further and find out my connection to it. 

A distraction was all I craved; an excuse to keep from dreaming about the same thing every night.  
I removed a small pin hidden within my ponytail and carefully picked the lock of my comfortable prison. The door creaked quietly as I slowly opened it, checking all sides. 

The library was empty, as were all the surrounding rooms. I observed the walls of literature once more, taking in its brilliance before settling at the table Sam had already setup. I looked over the pages he had open, depicting different versions of Ragnarok. Everyone had a different idea of how the world would end and some had plenty of speculation of how it would be rebuilt. As I looked through fiery sketches of the end-all, I couldn't help understanding both sides of the coin. I'm not sure what was expected of this species, but I could only assume a great majority of us had failed at whatever task we were meant to take on. The angels thought of us as ants and the demons thought of us as wardrobe.

A small crystal glass slid next to my book and it brought me back from inside my own head. I hadn't heard Dean come in and I hadn't heard him ask me if I wanted anything to drink. My body froze and I watched him as he moved to sit opposite of me. I was sure he would kill me, but this was just toying. 

He poured honey-colored liquid into my glass, only filling it a fourth of the way. He didn't watch me the way I watched him. He looked comfortable and almost -- murderous.

I picked up the glass and gulped what little he had poured me. It was well-aged whiskey that burnt its path down my throat and for a moment I enjoyed the feeling. My belly warmed and my body relaxed a bit. I slid the glass back to him and he refilled it.

We only stared at each other, trying to pinpoint weaknesses and bits of information that leaked through. It was a hunters greeting. I noticed the swelling that had finally bubbled in his face. I had hit him hard, but I wasn't completely sure why. He noticed my staring and lightly touched at it. 

"As much as I don't like you, I have to say you've got a mean swing," he said, breaking the silence.  
"I didn't do much damage." I wasn't going to apologize. Just because I didn't know why I did it, didn't mean it called for an apology. 

He stared for a moment longer and I was sure my throat would be slit within minutes, but no cold came.

"Do I have to wait this long for you to kill me?" I finally said.

"Who said anything about killing you?"

"Well, if that look is considered flirting, then I suggest you work on your skill."

He stared back at me, a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips. He sighed.

"Sam has convinced me not to. You seem to be a common denominator in whatever is going on, so you have -- importance," he reasoned. "For now."

"What? Because I hit you? That seems a bit petty, doesn't it?"

"Because I don't particularly like you."

"Likewise." I gulped from the glass again and slid it back. His eyes were dark as he looked into me and I trusted every word he spoke. Dean didn't seem to be one for empty promises, especially aggressive ones. 

 

I looked at the pictures that were laid out and thought to weighing both sides of the coin. The fantastical End would wipe out all evil; a clean slate for those left in the aftermath. Or our reality now; scary stories come to life and prowling the night. 'Reality' is why I had work, but I couldn't help imagining a reset. Connections were dangerous and attachments were temporary either way. Mortality was not an entity to us. It was the hit to the gut we felt everyday we hunted. After some time, you adjust to those blows and it even thickens your skin, but it doesn't lessen the desire for death any.

That look could be easily found in Sam and Dean with the same intensity. Even now, looking at Dean, watching his eyes glance at the photos depicted in each book, there was a flicker of familiarity. 

Sam cleared his throat as he stood in the entrance way.

"Your pet got loose," Dean said, looking over at his brother. I shot Dean a look, but Sam had expressed his frustrations with the look he shot at me.

"You locked me in four walls with no straight jacket. What did you think would happen?"

"Well, we definitely won't forget that next time," Dean quipped.

"Would you --" 

"Would you both stop?" Sam interrupted. I glared over at Dean as Sam willed us to calm. My phone rang in pocket, but I kept my sights on Dean.

"Yeah?" I said quickly.

"Ms. Smith?" the receptionist asked. "We need you to come by."  
I broke my staring contest to focus. 

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"It would be best if you got here quickly."

"I'm on my way." I closed the phone and looked at the two of them. "I need a car."

Dean shook his head at me. "No way."

He was really beginning to get under my skin. Sam rolled his eyes and volunteered to drive me in one of the spare cars in the garage.

 

When we arrived at the Vet's, the receptionist walked us to one of the back rooms, where the kennels lined the wall in varying sizes. From the moment we walked in, loud whimpering had echoed through the medium-sized hospital building. When we got to the back, the whimpering had gotten louder and I could see white and black furred paws clawing out of the end of the far corner kennel. I made my way over and got to the ground to see her. Her big honey-colored eyes looked back at me with fear and desperation. 

"Hey, hey," I spoke softly to her. I opened the kennel door and she slid to lay her head on my leg. I pet behind her ears and continued to whisper calmly. A large patch of her fur had been shaved off and a blood stained gauze pad hid the exposed skin. 

"She was healing well until she woke. She's been crying all night and nothing soothed her until you showed up. If she keeps this active, she risks damaging the sutures," explained the Vet.

"What do you recommend?" Sam asked.

"We don't usually release a patient until we know they have some independence, but we also don't want to keep her under such stressful conditions. We can release her to you, but you will have to keep an extra eye on her while she is recovering. We have an extensive list of instructions for you to follow in order to ensure her healing process is smooth."

"Okay," Sam answered for me. "Walk me through it."

Sam and Dr. Hahn worked through the steps and precautions of caring for Chives while she was away from the hospital. I continued to pet and kiss her head. Her panting slowed to steady breathing and she finally looked up at me. I grabbed her face gently and put my nose to hers.

"You can't be such a brat," I whispered to her. "You're going to hurt yourself doing that."

She licked my face and I could feel my eyes water. I was almost convinced that I had lost the only one in my life I had left. My sidekick.

"We're all set, Emma," Sam interrupted. I moved slowly to stand up to keep Chives from reacting too quickly. Sam handed me the bagged medicine and paperwork, and bent to pick up Chives. He hoistered her up and moved as carefully as possible as we exited. 

I sat in the back seat with her laid out, head in my lap. She immediately fell asleep as I pet her head the entire drive. 

"How long have you two been together?" Sam asked. We met eyes briefly in the rear view mirror.

"One very long and interesting year," I replied looking back down at her. I rubbed her ear between my thumb and index finger. It really had been an interesting year, but she proved to be a fighter and a resourceful hunter. She was braver than any human hunter I had ever met. 

Sam drove down the dark tunnel into the out-of-place garage that lay ahead. He picked her up and carried her to my room where I gestured for him to set her down on the bed. I sat at the end as she laid her head down to sleep.

"I only need a little bit of time for her to heal before I leave," I said to Sam. I looked up at him as he stood in the doorway. He nodded.

"Don't you want to discuss that with Dean?" I asked, almost rolling my eyes. Dean wouldn't want me here, especially not with a 'dog.' Sam sighed heavily, placed his hands in his jacket pockets and leaned against the doorway.

"He'll get over it." 

I nodded to him and placed my head in my hands, sighing. He walked over to stand directly in front of me. I could see his massive shoes inches from my own. I stood to lessen the stress on my neck of having to look at him from so low. When I did, he simply spoke.

"We need to know everything you know."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> Bad Moon Rising by Creedance Clearwater


	5. 5 The Day I Tried to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension continues to boil as the Winchesters and Emma search for answers, but what situation will it put them in as they dig too deep?

A state map of Kansas was laid out on one table, while open books piled the other. Sam marked the areas where we had each hunted in the past few weeks with small dots. We understood the spike was high in this particular area, but we didn't understand how high until we made note of the red route Sam mapped out corresponding with our stories.

"Should we even count half of these hunts?" I asked. "Most of them were simple demon possessions."  
There were three areas marked in blue, signifying the werewolf encounters. Sam examined the map further.

"It's been quiet aside from that, right? We've only seen suspicious activity in the surrounding area. It's like another Hell Gate pattern." 

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then Dean walked over to view the map. A small, scraggly semi-circle of dots lined the Northwestern side of the state. I looked at the neighboring cities and the names became more familiar. 

"Look at this," I said, placing my finger on the end of the map, where a small portion of Colorado sat. I placed my finger specifically on a pinpoint titled 'Greeley.'  
"I did a job there not too long ago. A neighboring church had reported that one of their nuns grew violent and spoke in tongues. It was a textbook possession."

"We had one in Fountain Valley. So what?" Dean added, looking up at me. It wasn't what I had expected to hear, but it was beginning to connect in my head.  
"Two possessions in the same state? That's not uncommon," Dean said when I didn't answer him.

I grabbed one of the United States maps and set it on top of our marked one.  
"I've done hunts here, here, and here in the past week," I explained pointing at cities surrounding Lebanon.  
"A year ago, I was in Montana." I took the marker from Dean's hand and placed a red dot next to Billings, sitting toward the bottom of the state. I began reading through the cities I had trekked through and marking the ones that I had worked jobs in. When I stopped to mark Lebanon, a series of dots laid out across the outer edges of Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Nebraska, and finally landing in Kansas. I stared out at the map. It was an almost straight shot.

"Why is that significant?" Dean finally asked.

"Initially, I was aiming for California," I breathed.

"Well, you clearly don't have a sense of direction."

"I never made it," I said quietly. I had a plan to settle there. It was my destination of choice. "Something always came up in a neighboring city. It was always hard to ignore, so I went where the jobs took me."  
Sam sat back a little, then picked up a black marker that sat on the table. He began dotting along the outer edges of my path in varying locations. A scraggly black-dotted runway worked its way through my own red one.  
Sam stood up slowly, staring at the map, then looked at me.

"What?" I said, but I had already gathered a feeling. The dots were laid out in pairs. Jobs setup almost side-by-side, but not once did I ever run into the Winchesters. 

"You were led here," he said simply.

"What?" Dean chimed.

"Look at the pattern," he said. He looked to Dean then at the map. "The surrounding cities were essentially quiet. Nothing strange ever came up but in these areas," he explained, dragging his finger along the lining. "Anything we've dealt with is sporadic and in a wider range of distance, but this -- this is a pathway."

"Why would she be led here?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, but think about it. After Hell, Heaven, Purgatory -- we've had mixed spikes, but this was all demons. Lowly demons that we killed and moved on from. Maybe they were expendable."

I had turned and taken a few steps away from them. I ran my hands through my hair and thought back to the series of jobs I had dealt with. I never thought much of them. I only knew I had a job to do. One I've been stuck in for 11 years. I told myself it was a duty, something bigger than me and selfishly, a road to some kind of redemption. What the hell was in Lebanon, Kansas that I needed to end up here, I screamed in my head. 

"We acted as a gutter block, but by coincidence it seems like. Whatever jobs we worked were aligned with hers, but --" Sam began to drift a bit. "We could have bumped into each other at any given time. Part of this doesn't make sense."

"Whatever doesn't fit, it's clear she's what they're looking for," Dean said. He looked over at me pacing. "Looks like you'll be a guest for a bit longer. Joy," he rolled his eyes and walked off.

 

I was locked in my own head for so long that I hadn't realized how long I'd been staring at the same page. It wasn't until Dean placed a beer in front of me that I finally arrived into my surroundings. There was a clear pattern with these two men.

"You can tear it out and frame it if you'd like," he said, sitting in the chair next to me on the end of the table. He picked up a book and turned it over in his hand before tossing it on the table again. Sam had gone to bed long ago, but I hadn't noticed. I stared at the header on the page that simply read 'Ragnarok.'

I was getting sick of seeing and hearing this word, despite my trying to use it as a distraction. I began to zone out a bit and before I knew it some time had passed and my machete clattered on the table. Dean again. He placed a small bottle and a stone next to it, along with a small stack cloth. I looked up at him as he made his way back to his seat. He had a few more tools of his own. He set down a black roll of fabric and unrolled the small case lined with pockets. In each pocket was a different cleaning tool. He laid his gun out and began taking it apart.

"You're beginning to freak me out with all of your zen silence."  
I looked at him and said nothing. He stopped his tasks and returned my look.

"Work," he demanded. I moved the books out of my way and slowly unsheathed my blade. I hadn't cleaned it well from the last fight we had. I rubbed my finger along the dried blood and listened the crust of it crackle.

"How many?" he asked. I put the blade down and picked the bottle up. It was cleaner for silver and a second bottle sat in front me that read 'Polish.' 

"Five, total. You guys took out two."  
His mouth moved a little and he shrugged.

"Impressive. Where'd you get the hardware?"  
I had poured cleaner onto one of the cloths to soak a small area of it. Dean had already taken his gun apart and began cleaning the individual pieces. I pressed the cloth to the blade and began wiping the excess dirt away.

"I had it made. Silver in the blade, devils traps etched into the handle."

"Don't you think a gun would be more efficient?"

"I have one, but I prefer blades. I use what's called for in the moment."

"Or you could just use whats effective," he argued.

"Says the one in possession of the demon blade."  
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. I was beginning to polish the silver in small circular motions along one side of the blade.

"Why keep me here?" I finally asked. The question didn't phase him and the answer didn't have much thought in it.

"You're wanted by a bunch of monsters. Here is safest."

"For who?"

"For everyone. Have you seen this place?"

"Not completely, but so far it's been impressive."

"We have to figure out why you were led here and I'll bet that demon back at the diner has something to do with it. I want to think Crowley was behind it, but he's a bit busy." He glanced quickly at his forearm and continued to work. "With our luck, Abbadon's probably involved," he muttered.

"Abbadon? The knight?"

"Yeah. She's been a royal pain in the ass."

"You've seen her?"

"You could say that."

"I've only ever heard about her from other hunters. She's tough to kill."

"You have no idea."

"Why would you think she has anything to do with this?"

"Because this is a crap situation." He continued to work on each piece thoroughly in our remaining silence.  
I slid the sharpening stone along the edge of my blade and the grinding sat in my ears. It had been some time since I cared for the blade and it was apparent in the jagged edges. I continued to smooth the stone along, slowly repeating the motion. I lost myself in it.

 

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It felt like I had returned to my body when the noise went off. I looked down at my hands like I had just opened my eyes and the blade and stone had been stopped mid-grind. When I fully awakened, Dean was staring at me. He blinked at me a bit, then stood to make his way toward the noise.  
I placed my blade and the stone down slowly and noticed small cuts along my fingers. At a second glance, it had leaked to the blade and stone. Had I been so locked away that I hadn't noticed the pain?

I grabbed a clean cloth off the table and walked to Dean, placing pressure on the small incisions. 

"What is that?" I asked finally reaching him. He was standing over the Map table where a small red light was blinking over the central section of the United States. He had a laptop open and on the screen, a replica of the map and it's blinking light. He double-clicked the light and when it zoomed, revealed a deserted area of land just East of the location of the bunker. He had silenced the beeping and studied the area on the screen.

"It's a job," he simply replied. A job? He had gotten that small answer from the ancient technical monster of a table sitting in front of us.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"The bunker tells us so. We should probably check it out." He looked around the room as he grabbed his jacket hanging off the chair nearby. 

"Sam must be out like a light. Are you good?" he asked. His eyes bore into me. 

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well, you did go crazy comatose for about 2 hours."  
Two hours? It felt like only a few minutes to me. I squeezed the cloth around my hand to place pressure on the cuts. I felt pain. I didn't seem to be dreaming. 

"I'm good," I finally said. It seemed to be enough of an answer for him. I wrapped my hand up, did a final wipe down of my machete, keeping clear of my intensely sharp blade, and sheathed it. We didn't seem to need to pack anything extra and I understood why when Dean popped the trunk to the Impala. _A home on wheels,_ I thought.

The drive was far enough from the Bunker and in an empty lot, save for a small factory building distanced from the road we turned off of. There were no streetlights, no parking lot, and no sign of life. Dean went into the trunk and grabbed two flashlights, tossing me one and keeping the other for himself. He ensured both our guns were loaded, packing a few extra mags for good measure. I placed a few on the empty slots on my thigh strap. He slipped one blade into a small sheath attached to his belt and the other in the hem of his boot.

"Is that --" I began.

"Yes. Angel blade. Comes in handy," he answered. "Let's do this."

 

 

The inside of the building was plastered in shredded tarp and the paint on the wall remained untouched except for the dust that settled neatly on it. The building didn't seem to make it through its finished phases. It explained the empty area and lifeless atmosphere. Dean and I moved in together, flashlights out and guns ready. He moved like a soldier. We didn't have to work out a plan. We only knew to stay together and ensure the safety ourselves and our counterpart. It had been a while since I had worked with a human partner, but I had my run-ins with other hunters on jobs.

This job didn't seem to be panning out. There was no movement, no one in distress, and nothing obviously suspicious. 

"The bunker got it wrong?" I asked, still looking around. Before Dean could answer, a muffled yell echoed throughout the empty building. We looked to each other. He couldn't pinpoint the direction either. We were ready, but unaware of where to follow the sound.

"Is there an underground?" I asked. It had been the only viable conclusion I could come up with. The yell echoed again and he nodded at me in agreement. It was worth a shot. We walked along the building again, looking for a door or set of stairs leading anywhere else. We finally reached an area we didn't recognize and Dean nodded to an old raggedy stained door.

"I thought we looked everywhere," I whispered. There was another scream and this time we were sure it came from behind the door. Dean nodded to me again and I positioned myself on his side. He lifted his leg and thrusted it toward the knob of the door, knocking it open with a loud bang. I moved in quickly and scanned the area around us, but there wasn't much to observe. A narrow staircase twirled into an abyss below us. We paired our flashlights to try and make out an ending or grounding, but we were unsuccessful. 

Dean gestured his head to keep moving down and I nodded. I took the first step forward and he placed his hand in front of me. I stopped and looked back at him.

"Would you stop it," I whispered harshly. I pushed his hand away and continued forward with my flashlight pointed down. It was silent aside for the quiet clatter of our boots hitting narrow, metal steps. Keeping a full view of the surrounding area proved difficult on the 360 degree spiral. I finally felt elongated grounding and flattened my foot against it. A putrid smell hit my nose suddenly, but I didn't have much time to feel sick by it, before I felt weight fall from behind me.

I hit the ground and heard the flashlights clatter to the floor before everything went completely black and I was floating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> The Day I Tried to Live by Soundgarden


	6. 6 Zombie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Dean find themselves in quite the predicament.

My head was pounding and my stomach rumbled beneath me. Sleeping on concrete was worse than a springy, cheap, smelly mattress. Suddenly, I missed them.

I tried to sit up, but felt an unusual weight keeping me down. I tried opening my eyes, but the overhead light proved painful to my sight. Everything was white and blurred before finally coming into view. I twisted around to find Dean weighing me down in a slumber. I hoisted myself up and around, knocking him off of my lower half. He awoke in the same fashion I did. I could see him adjust to the light and I could hear his joints crack from the prolonged stillness when he slept.

I looked around to see large empty room, brightly lit with aligning bulbs in the ceiling. Our guns and flashlights lay flat on the floor a couple feet from us. I finally focused on the spiral staircase and remembered we had made our way down earlier. It had hit me why we were here in the first place, but I saw no bodies, no demons, and no signs of any scuffled dust aside from the spots we laid in. We both stood and picked our weapons up to holster them.

"This must be the basement," I said.

"Yeah. Where were these lights earlier?"

"We should head up. I don't see anything down here."

Dean nodded at me and as we made our way back up the stairs, he stopped at the top. I could see him staring down at the bottom of the door. Not only was the door latched shut, but it was bright white. _Hadn't we seen an old brown door? Didn't Dean kick it in?_

Even stranger, light trickled in from the bottom of the door. When we had entered the building, it had no windows, but the outer walls were closed in and the main exit doors had been installed. Maybe it wasn't as lifeless as we previously thought. Dean moved to the side to allow me to join him at his side. He placed his hand on the knob and looked to me. We took our pistols out and I nodded at him. He slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. We moved out quickly, but were blinded by bright hot light. 

When our eyes adjusted, it took us a moment to take in the world around us. A majority of the building was in pieces and the insides exposed to the sun, now shining down on us. We walked slowly, stepping like the ground under us could give out any minute. 

What was the front of the building had been taken down and the dirt land ahead was littered with abandoned vehicles. Amongst them, a black Impala, shattered and torn apart. Dean ran toward the vehicle and checked its contents hopelessly. Forests had emerged in the lands behind us that had been empty just last night. The light of the sun faded behind a thick dark cloud and when I finally looked up, I noticed how rare that sunlight would be for the day. Dark clouds closed over each other and not an inkling of blue revealed itself. The world had grown quiet and dead. I didn't hear planes or traffic or the shuffling of people that tended to merge with the daily pollution.  
"Dammit!" Dean yelled, kicking the remaining rim on the Impala. I walked over to him and saw what had frustrated him. The inside of the vehicle and its trunk were completely empty.

"I think we need to keep moving," I suggested.

"And go where?" he asked, frustrated. I looked around again. It was just too quiet.

"I just think we need to keep moving."

 

We didn't walk for long before reaching an empty gas station. Its windows were broken in and the outer walls spray painted in apocalyptic calligraphy. There wasn't much else surrounding it aside from a tire shop and car wash. I could feel my stomach growl again. I felt hungrier than I had before.

"We should grab some food," I said.

"What we need is to find out what's going on."

"That won't matter if we die of starvation. We have no idea what's happening or how long it'll be before we find out. Let's stick with Survival 101, shall we?"

We stepped into the door frame where glass had previously been. The shards crackled beneath our feet. It was the only other foreign noise we had heard in the past hour. The small aisles had bare shelves, with only empty wrappers sprinkled throughout. The refrigerated shelves along the wall were empty as well.

"This is a waste," Dean said. "We need to find people."

"Not sure that'll be a problem," I said. I walked into a small hallway where the restrooms and Employee closet were stationed. The Employee closet door was being held open by pale legs stretched out along the floor. I stepped a bit closer and the smell hit me. It was familiar. The smell from the basement before we fell, I thought.

I covered my nose as much as I could and pushed the door open a bit. There was no movement, but I didn't expect any. As a precaution, I lightly kicked the limbs. No movement. Great hunting skills.  
I pushed the door open a bit more and noticed the shelves had been emptied as well, but in the far corner a small black bag sat, plump and ready for the taking. I needed to step over the girl that lay lifeless and in my way. 

"Dean, come help me."  
He approached finally and saw the body.

"What is that? Who is that?" he asked.

"Don't know. Hold the door open for me," I requested.  
"What happened to her?" he asked holding the door ajar and covering his nose.

I didn't answer him and concentrated on stepping over the obstacle, but the space was too small between the body and the far wall. I settled with stepping on her back to make it to the bag.

"Sorry," I whispered to her. I snatched the bag up and sighed at the weight of it. When I looked back up at Dean to make my way out of the room, his face showed judgment.

"What? She's dead already," I reasoned. I moved away from the area to escape the smell. I placed the bag on the counter and unzipped it. I began to pull out the cans of vegetables that sat neatly in it. Four. Not a bad find.  
When I began to search the other pockets, I pulled out a small six-shooter and half box of bullets to accompany it. A few bottles of water sat at the bottom of a second zipper on the front and a small utility knife was snuck into the small mesh pocket in front. 

"Jackpot," I smiled. This was a bit too easy. I began to pack away the items, but was pulled back by the sound of screeching tires and what sounded like thumping music. 

"People," I breathed. It was not relief I felt, but fear. Dean seemed to have felt the same because he pulled me behind and down beneath the clerks counter. We compacted ourselves as much as we could beneath the space where the safe would usually sit and listened to the loud engine pull up next to the opening of the store.  
Deep, accented voices piled in, crackling the glass under their feet. They spread out and one seemed to have found the Employee closet.

"It ain't here, Buck," he said. 

"That is where we left it, you dope." A deep voice spoke near the counter and he smacked his hand down on top of it. 

"I'm tellin' you. It ain't here," he said again.

I looked at the black bag sitting next to me and realized what 'It' they were referring to. I looked at Dean and shifted my eyes to the bag. He understood we had taken the 'It' from a bunch of rednecks and rolled his eyes. I put my hand up to him and stretched out my fingers to indicate I had counted five varying walking patterns. He placed his hands up and imitated the motion, but extended a sixth finger. I didn't catch a 6th, but I trusted his instincts. 

"Well, lookie here." A high-pitched voice spoke down to us. A small girl dressed in raggedy clothing and sporting a shotgun gestured for us to stand. She pointed her weapon at us as we stood. Dammit, six.

"Some pretty boy and his lady friend are tryna steal from us," she said. We faced a large man who stood on the other side of the counter. I could only assume he was the owner of the deep voice we heard earlier. 

"Well, well," he said. "Aren't you two all cleaned up."  
The small girl poked the barrel of the gun at Dean's hip where his pistol sat. He slipped it out and placed it on the counter, along with the knife on his hip. He nodded to me and I pulled my machete from my back to place it on the counter. I did the same with my pistol and extra magazines. 

She poked at Dean's hip again and gestured for us to move out from behind the counter. When we stood in front of her, she kept the barrel at our backs. The man standing by the Employee closet was tall and gaunt. He had deep circles under his eyes and his teeth were cracked in various places. Looking around, it seemed that major dentist appointments had been missed by everyone. They were all gaunt looking, aside from the monster of a man who we now stood next to. He was plump and his eyes looked more rested in comparison. 

Two men stood in the corner by the empty refrigerated shelves and they looked like twins, but both had defining marks on their necks. They didn't look accidental, but like they were differentiating marks. At the other end of the room toward the entrance, an older woman leaned on the arm of a tall middle-aged man. In any other circumstances, these people would seem harmless, but each one was equipped with a shotgun and all pointed at us. 

The larger man seemed intrigued. He moved to stand in front of us after examining our weapons. He leaned in close to Dean and I could swear he was sniffing him. It wasn't until he reached me that I confirmed that was exactly what he was doing. He trailed his nose along my neck and down to my chest.

"Hey!" Dean interjected. The barrel that was at our backs now pressed into the underside of Dean's jaw. The small girl behind us pushed it against his skin, moving his head to the side. The interruption was enough to distract the large man and bring his attention back to Dean.  
He moved in close to Dean's face.

"Ya gettin' jealous, pretty boy? We have some plans for you." Dean looked away from the mans face and coughed a little.

"I hope it's a breath mint because -- wow buddy, you are offensive." Dammit Dean.  
The man's face twisted in anger and he punched Dean in the gut. I could hear the thud before Dean buckled at the knees, holding his stomach as he went down.

"Get the rope, mama." The older woman and taller man who accompanied her, obliged and walked out of the store.

"Les, take these two," he demanded of the thinner one. He brought Dean to his feet and they moved us to stand in front of the skinnier one they called Les. The small girl placed the black bag on the counter near our weapons and the larger man began to go through the contents I had just placed back in it.  
Dean looked around for any form of escape or fight, but our weapons sat close to the boss and the store was a barren wasteland. We needed one quick because I felt nothing but murder under my skin and a scraggly hand down my back. I clenched my jaw as his hand travelled further down to cup my butt. Dean must have noticed the flexing in my jaw because he twitched to move at him.

"Don't," I whispered harshly to him. He obeyed, but eyed the creep. Les had stopped moving and met Dean's gaze.  
"Don't," he repeated. "She likes me." He giggled at the phantom flirtation.

"Rus, Bill," Les called for the twins. "This one likes it."  
They didn't hesitate to join in Les's free-for-all groping session. 

"They smell so pretty," Les said, beginning to move his hand up my side. Rus stood in front of me and began to sniff at my neck and chest just as the Boss had done, but Bill seemed to favor Dean. I eyed for him to stay calm as Bill sniffed at his neck and played with the collar of his shirt. I felt Les's hand finally reach the side of my breast, but I never looked away from Dean. I nodded at Dean and he launched his fist at Bill's face, knocking him out in one movement.

I pushed my elbow back into Les's face with all the force I could muster. Using the momentum of the impact on Les, I sent the same arm one-way to Rus's face and knocked him out.

With the commotion, the smaller girl had cocked her gun and fired, but Dean and I both held a twin to shield from the blasts. The body shook in my arms and for a moment, Rus awakened before going limp. Blood spattered in all directions and my ears rang. Two more shots rang out and smacked the twins in the back again. I blinked hard to prevent blood from blinding me and caught a glimpse of the room. The small girl, the older lady, and her companion were all reloading.

"Dean!" I yelled. We both reached for the guns that had once been the twins and cocked them. Dean took out the small girl by the counter and I took out the older woman by the entrance. Dean slid to his knees and swept his body under the counter. I moved my body to follow suit, but my legs were swept out from under me and I hit the floor, face first. A body crawled on top of me and I could hear the ragged breathing as he used my clothing for leverage. He curled his fingers into my hair and pulled back. I could feel his breath on my skin and it smelled like rot.

"I am going to tear you in two," Les wheezed. I could see Dean peak from behind the counter to gauge my situation. I saw the handle of my blade on the floor near him and he slid it to me. I gripped it tight, twisted my body to overpower tiny Les and drove my blade in at my side. I could hear the sweet sound of him gargle the blood that filled his mouth and then silence. I pulled my blade from his gut and turned on my stomach.

A shot rang out above me and pieces of the clerks counter rained down on the floor. I could hear the older man struggle to reload his shotgun and as I stood to come at him, Dean let off a shot. The bullet pierced his head and he went down. There was silence as the station settled and Dean stood. We looked the area over and Dean placed the items back into the bag. Two of the cans, a water bottle, and the utility blade had all become casualties of the last shot Grandpa had made at the counter.

"AHHHHH!" 

The large man who had snuck his way out came bounding back toward us with two pistols in hand. Dean lifted his gun to take him out, but I had already gripped the handle of my blade, slung my arm back and let my blade launch. The long weapon rapidly circled through the air and pierced his chest. With the force, he was pushed back and fell. Dean looked over at me as he registered the happening. I merely shrugged. It wasn't the first time I had done it, but I hadn't done it from that distance. It wasn't common to sling a machete through the air the way that one would with a smaller knife, but I only reacted.

He zipped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. I picked up the shotguns that laid at the feet of their previous owners. We exited the shop and stopped at the large man that lay in the middle of the gas pumps. I ripped my machete from his chest and Dean collected the pistols. I listened to the silence around us, but it didn't last long. At first, it sounded like leaves scraping the ground in a small gust of wind, but I saw no leaves move around us.  
I looked down the street we had just come from and focused on the distance my eyes were capable of reaching. I saw slight movement from behind one of the abandoned vehicles, but it disappeared.

"This truck will work. It's got a full tank, but I'll warn you, it's got a stench." Dean jumped the step down from the vehicle and began taking the small stack of guns from my arms.  
I continued to look in the distance and saw the movement again. From behind one of the closer vehicles, a hunched body dragged its feet along the ground. The man was bone thin and looked gray from where I stood. I could almost hear his ragged breathing.

"Dean," I said, blindly tapping at him. 

"What?" he responded, turning to me. I pointed in the direction of the man dragging his feet, but as he cleared the vehicle and any other obstacles in the way, something else had come into view. A thin line of what looked like rope dragged behind him, but it seemed to be connected to something on his stomach. I focused my vision and saw his stomach was a gaping hole.

"Uh, we should probably go," Dean said, taking me out of my trance. He turned to get in the truck, but stopped.

"Emma, now," he demanded. I turned to him and noticed he was staring in the other direction. A large grouping of people dragged along the street, all looking gaunt and gray, and headed in our direction. Their collective ragged breathing had been the sound I heard earlier. I moved around to hop in on the passenger side and as I stepped up, a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me down.

I turned and backed against the vehicle to be met with the rotted face of the girl I had seen earlier face down in the Employee closet. She opened her mouth at me and I smelled death and rot. She snapped her teeth at me and they clanked together.

"Emma," Dean called to me. I pushed the girl off and she fell into the gas pump behind her. I slipped my blade out and as she came at me again, I drove my blade into the top her head. I struggled to rip the blade out, but used my foot to separate the two. I jumped up into the vehicle and slammed the door behind me.

"Let's go," I shouted. Dean hit the gas and the wheels peeled underneath us. Hands came up to smack the windows and doors around us as the vehicle finally started moving forward. The truck barely bounced as the things in front of us fell beneath us. He set off in the only option of streets we had left.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, catching his breath.

"That girl was dead in there," I said.

"Well, what was she doing out here then?"

"Do you think --" I stopped myself from saying it, but Dean already knew the path I was headed down.

"No. Do not say it," he demanded.

"It's the only explanation I can think of. This sure as hell is not Croatoan."

"How do you know? They were aggressive and murderous."

"No. They were hungry," I said almost inaudibly.

"Seriously? Zombies?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title:  
> Zombie by The Pretty Reckless


	7. 7  Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Emma continue to fight through their new environment, learning new things about one another.

Dean crouched next to me huffing and puffing through his frustration. I perched up on my feet and slowly lifted my body to peak my head up above the block of cement wall that separated us from the horde of undead aimlessly wandering the main street. Buildings all around us were battered and occupied with these zombie-like beings. They looked just as they had been depicted in film. The flesh was greyed and rotted, their smell overwhelmed the air no matter where you managed to escape to. We abandoned the loud vehicle long ago and it didn't seem to serve us too well except for our silent travels. 

On the far right, a pair of glazed white eyes caught mine. It grunted at me and turned to drag its feet toward us. I slowly lowered myself to sit on the balls of my feet and glanced around in front of me. We needed a way out. We were caught and despite Dean's sharp whispering commands, I was the one to give away our hiding. Dean must have noticed my tension because his eyes rolled before sticking on me, disappointed and annoyed. 

"Great," he breathed. He perched up on his feet to imitate my own stance and peaked over, but he quickly retreated. "You are in charge of dinner tonight," he threatened. 

"How many?"

"Five -- Few feet away. We'll need to move quickly. We're guaranteed to attract ---"

A high-pitched scream billowed out from the buildings closest to the massive flock of undead. We shot looks at one another and stood quickly, blades at the ready. The small grouping of undead that he had noticed walking at us, stood a mere few feet away, now turned away toward the sound of the screams.  
We lifted our blades and struck down in swift motions, leaving each creature in front of us limp and laying on the floor. A small, successful pile of unmoving corpses, yet it made no difference in the amount of draggers that shuffled in front of us.

I continued to look ahead, peering into the buildings and their surroundings, searching for a route to the human noises causing a distraction. From my peripheral, I could see Dean facing the other way, searching as frantically as I had for an escape path. He looked over at me, his jaw clenched.

"No," he said. "They're probably dead."

Another loud scream echoed into the open sky followed by the choir of undead moans and grunts. I looked over at him, my lips thinned and matching his stare. There it was again -- rolling eyes and huffing. He muttered under his breath at me and scanned the same area I had for any type of route around or through the buildings.

"Above," I said pointing. A narrow alley sat between two crowded buildings and within view, a metal ladder lined along the left side of the wall. It was rusted and broken, but at the moment, I could only see a glowing aura around it. Our only option was to break through a portion of the flock and climb the building. The echo of the screams dispersed in the air, but my best guess told me there was someone trapped just behind the building across from our ladder.

"Charge it?" he asked.

"Charge it," I confirmed.

We lifted our blades and stepped silently and quickly toward our blocked path. The sounds of crunching and squishing drew attention for some of the surrounding draggers, but we kept moving. Dean was a warrior. He moved like one, thought like one, spoke like one, and when he was covered in blood, he looked like one. I trusted him at my side and I trusted his ability to keep us alive.

We sliced and stepped through our clearing path, but as we did, we attracted more rotted reanimations. Whatever we took down seemed to be easily replaced, but we could see the opening to our alley.

"Dumpster," I yelled to him. A green dumpster sat toward the end of the alleyway, too large for the narrow pathway it sat in. It could mean a defense for us and an easier way up. I hacked quicker and louder now, no longer worried about drawing attention. We had it all. 

He followed suit until we broke free and ran through our opening. Dean moved around me and stepped behind the dumpster, gripping its corner and pulling. He grunted in his struggle as I stood defense. My arms moved robotically, lifting my blade up in the air and bringing it back down again and again. I heard the feet of the metal box scrape against the concrete little by little until Dean finally caught his momentum to push. I removed my blade from the head of the creature in front of me and stepped quickly behind the now exposed back of the smelly receptacle. I laid my back against its flat side, put my foot against the adjacent wall and pushed all my weight on it. It moved quickly, loudly scraping the ground as it slid. Dean joined me pushing to turn its width against the width of the alley. It moved only a foot more before we were met with the resistance of the growing horde focused on us.

We were still a distance from the ladder, but the dumpster gave us a shield and higher starting point. I sheathed my blade, clasped my hands together and ducked down beneath Dean.

"Climb," I demanded of him. Without hesitation, he stepped into the cup of my hand, placing his hand on my shoulder and lifted himself on top of the dumpster. The undead smacked at the surface he stood on trying desperately to reach him. He grabbed my hand and lifted me as I climbed to join him. 

We looked out to where we had just come from and it was filled with rotted moans and dead eyes. The resistance continued against the dumpster and it moved beneath us. For a moment, we lost our footing before catching each other from falling forward.  
The ladder on the wall was close enough to cheat death. I launched myself at the rusted bars and gripped tightly to the first thing I could catch. One of my arms gave out as I caught on to the rusted rebar and I dangled for a moment like fresh steak to hungry wolves. Greyed fingers tapped and snatched at my boots, but I gained my strength once more and balanced myself. I moved up the bars quickly to make room for Dean. I could hear the dumpster scrape against the ground with the continuing struggle of the crowd.  
"Now or never," I yelled to him.

He swayed a moment before finally launching himself at the ladder and catching the bars just below me. When I noticed his clean grip, I moved up to the roof, stretching my leg over the small concrete wall that lined the edging. The panels I stepped on were unsteady, but we wouldn't need to venture to the middle of the building. Our fight was behind it.

"This was stupid," he muttered, joining me. I kept along the edge, ignoring his comments. As I had expected, a small grouping of creatures had formed behind the building and below, they sat around their human tables pouring into the belly of fresh flesh. I scanned the small backlot looking for any signs of human life, but I could only spot the 3 adults and 1 child that had walked themselves into becoming meals.

I sheathed my blade, discouraged. Dean was right. They all seemed to be dead or at the very least, gone. I would have rubbed my face in my hands had they not been covered in blood. Instead, I placed my hands on the cemented short wall lining the edge of the roof and looked at my hands, staining the sun bleached paint they rested on. 

"Emma," Dean started, but I was in no mood. 

"I know. A waste of time," I finished for him.

"Not exactly," he replied. I looked over at him to find he was staring directly below us. A small blue car sat against the cornering of the buildings, a few undead tapping at its windows. It didn't stand out to me except that the creatures weren't stuffing their bellies like the others. They were focused on something else, but we couldn't see exactly what. 

"Check it out?" he asked. I only looked at him. I wouldn't answer. I had brought us this far on a hunch that someone might still be alive, but going back to the ground would only put us in another fight and neither of us could see for what. 

"Lower me down on the corner there, I'll let you know when to drop me," I suggested.

"I'm not made of muscle," he complained.

"No argument there," I winked. He tightened his jaw at me.

 

Dean gripped both of my forearms as I did his, dangling from the edge of the building. I was tall, but the height from my feet to the ground was still a substantial distance to fall. I released my grip on his left arm to signal his own release. Letting go of one arm only gained me a small amount of closing distance. He slowly loosened his grip on my other arm just enough to let me slide for my hand to meet his. 

"Swing me a bit." I whispered loud enough for him to hear me and give me a look of disbelief. He struggled to move me toward the building then away from it and as he did, I released my grip on his hand and he let me go. It was a small push, but enough to land me on the vehicle. I hit the top of the car with a loud bang and lost my footing, falling to sit on my tailbone. The creatures tapping the car came at me and I kicked despite the pain that radiated in my spine. My heel hit one in the head sending him stumbling back, but the other had a grip on my other leg. I unsheathed my blade and sent it down on his head before his teeth met with my flesh. 

I pulled my blade from his head and struck the other stumbler as he came back at me. I had landed wrong and its effects were known. My lower back felt strange, as did the muscles lining my legs. I tried to slide down the side of the vehicle, but found that my legs didn't have the strength to hold me. As I began to tumble, I gripped the vehicle and attempted to hold myself up. From my peripheral vision, I could see black hair and light skin against the panel. A small boy with dark eyes stared back at me. For a moment, he watched me, then his eyes moved to something behind me. 

I stuck my blade up, but slipped down to sit on the ground. The creature bent down, mouth open, ready to feast, but instead met my blade in his brain. I was sitting on the ground, awkwardly digging my only form of defense from the mashed skull of my attacker and staring at the oncoming of his hungry companions. The boy sat in the window behind me, watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> ail - AWOLNATION


	8. 8  With Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We catch a glimpse of Emma's drive and her interactions with Dean as they seek out shelter for the evening.

It was understandable that children wouldn't be able to grasp the severity of the situation I sat in the middle of. The child behind me banged against the window with his small fists and screamed for me to get up. My calves and thighs spasmed a little as the tingle began to diminish. However I had landed on the vehicle had put me in a predicament I didn't anticipate. This was the stupidity that Dean had always protested against, especially after a long morning like this. Our bones were growing tired and our muscles had given in long ago, but we kept at it and my need to save these imaginary people kept placing us near death.

Someone put us here. We knew this to be fact, but whether it was real or just a form of torture, I would keep doing my job. We didn't know why it was this world we were placed in, but it was never-ending and Dean and I seemed to be the only independently thinking individuals. Sam was missing, there was no sign of Crowley or Cas, and I could only imagine that Chives was dead. We just kept going despite the incomplete equation. We were aimless and had been for weeks.

The small head of a white teenager thudded as it rolled unevenly to finally sit by my rested hand. His eyes were rolled back and a portion of his face had been chewed off. I could only assume it was the bite that turned him, but he wasn't like this for long. His skin still had pigment to it and a small hint of brown was still visible behind his clouded irises. 

More slicing sounded and blood spattered behind me on the vehicle and in my hair. It had effectively stopped the small boy from banging and screaming. Now I could only picture the stunned look on his face because when Dean was drenched and determined, he was frightening. I looked up at him as he heaved to catch his breath.

"Took you long enough," I huffed at him.

"Well, maybe if you stopped being so lazy, you could have helped me clear this up," he quipped. We stared at each other, stern and annoyed before letting a small smile form in unison. 

He looked above my head at the small boy, who I could only assume was still staring in frightened fascination.

"There's your damsel," Dean said, nodding to the kid. I shook my head at him and he looked at me.

"We heard a woman. None of our buffets are female and I'm sure the kids scream is high pitched enough, but we heard an adult woman." He nodded in agreement and put his hand out for me to grasp.

"Can you stand?" 

I put my hand in his and nodded once. The feeling in my legs had returned and the tingle had subsided. He lifted me easily, but my legs still felt unsteady underneath me. It was one more thing that I needed to brush off, especially if we added a third person to our group. Dean stepped forward and grabbed the handle of the car door, but the boy smacked down on the lock. Dean's hand slid from the handle and the frustration twisted on his face. I put my hand up to silence him before he drew more attention to us. 

I bent down to level with the boy and my back spasmed a bit, but I smiled tightly.

"Can you open the door for us?" I asked as soft as my voice would allow. "We won't hurt you. There's no danger out here."

His small dark eyes darted from my face to Dean's, but he didn't move. I looked back at Dean and gestured for him to move away. He rolled his eyes, but obliged and stepped toward the back of the car. I looked back at the boy, who kept his sights on Dean still.

"He's annoying, I know," I spoke to him again softly. "But he can protect you. We just need you to unlock the door."  
He finally moved his eyes back to me and he seemed to calm a bit, no longer focused on the block of man intimidating him. I smiled a little wider and noticed movement on the other side of the vehicle. I looked up to see Dean standing parallel to me, searching the vehicle through the other window.

"Emma," he said softly. Something in voice deepened and darkened, but I had caught sight of it too. There were subtle movements on the floor of the car, stuck between the cushioning on the back seats and the front. A small, thin woman squirmed beneath the bloodied clothing that was ripped from her. She didn't look to be in pain and when she opened her eyes, I could see why. A white foggy film stared up aimlessly at the ceiling of the vehicle, it's nostrils moving to sniff the air. She moved weakly, but the determination would hit her soon and that was a fight that took energy.

"I need you to unlock the door," I asked quietly. The urgency on my face didn't seem to trigger him and he still stared warily at me. 

"Please," I begged a bit louder. His small hand moved slowly to rest on top of the lock and just as he pulled it up, the creature shot up in a sitting position and grabbed the boys shoulders. It stared back at me, it's eyes completely blackened. It lasted seconds and I questioned my sanity. A demon had taken an undead. It opened it's jaw and dug its teeth into the boys flesh.

Dean drove his elbow into the window, shattering it loudly. He dove half his body inside and grabbed the creature by its neck, pulling its weight through the window and outside the vehicle. He fell back from the weight with the thing on top of him. Black smoke billowed from its mouth as he drove his smaller blade into its head.  
I still stood at the door staring through a blood shade on the window. Small brown eyes looked back at me until they gave in and the boy limped forward, his head rested on the sill of the window. 

The spasms in my back radiated and my knees buckled beneath me. I hit the floor and let my head hit the vehicle with a clang. No tears had formed, no anger, no guilt. I just knelt against the car, staring at the concrete below me, wide-eyed. The spasms continued to pulse and I felt every vibration of pain, but nothing else.

_Demon_

Dean grunted as he stood, brushing off the dead woman and I'm sure some of his annoyance with it. His anger was fuel and he had controlled it well since getting stuck here, but he also had plenty to take it out on. I had never seen him move so quickly as he did when he tore through that window and ripped that woman from the car. It had been one swift motion and the heat of his fire was felt. 

I could see his boot scuff the ground next to me and my spasms finally ceased. I lifted my head quickly, looking past the bloodied window and small head limped in front of me. I struggled to stand and for a moment, he offered assistance, but I ignored it. 

"We need to find shelter," I said matter-of-factly. I could feel his stare and his silence was louder than I needed it to be. My feet shuffled as I moved and I would cherish the moment my full ability returned. 

 

We had moved silently through the city, only speaking when it was necessary to decipher a plan of action in a difficult situation. I had lost track of how far we got, but Dean was leading and he seemed to have a destination in mind. The decisions I had made previously had only gotten one of us injured and someone else killed. It was something difficult to hold over my head, even for myself, because anyone we came across would have died anyway. Everything was hungry and the menu was short listed. 

We finally came upon a brick building of small apartment homes. The open street in front of the building had a small grouping of aimless walkers bumping into each other, moaning at the disturbance. We could make it across with no difficulty as long as my back didn't give out. Throughout our walk since the lot, I hadn't felt any pain or discomfort. The good news was that I didn't seriously injure myself, but it was enough of a shock to my system to cause me some strain.

Dean scanned the area in front of us and looked back at me.  
"We head straight through. Take down only what we need to." I nodded at him and for a moment he seemed to want to say something, but chose to stay quiet. He nodded back before looking to our pathway. He stepped out a foot in front of him, then continued, moving quickly and quietly. He didn't run, just steadily stepped like the ground would creak below him. I imitated the motion, following directly behind him. His motions had worked for longer than I expected and we went unnoticed until coming upon the grouping. We took out the two closest creatures and the noises caught our audience.

"Quickly," he yelled back at me. I swung my blade up and down, in and out of head after head that got too close. We moved effortlessly through the crowding and straight toward the building. This grouping was substantially smaller than the one we had dealt with further in town, but just as oblivious and slow as the others. These things only had strength in numbers, but individually, they were harmless and easy.

We reached the door and I turned to face the grouping as Dean struggled with the door. I killed only what threatened us, but as I swung, I could see more and more stragglers emerge from the surrounding buildings and patches of forest. 

"Dean," I said warily.

"I'm getting it," he yelled back. I stepped back, placing my back against his and felt the jerk of the door opening. I stuck my blade in to the head of a larger man and kicked him off, sending his limp weight into the oncoming shuffling of hungry dead.

We moved quickly into the building and slammed the door shut. I turned to face the inside as Dean pressed his weight into the door and locked it. Nothing stood in front of us, but it was a suspicious sight. 

"Let's barricade it," I suggested. We moved the lobby furniture to sit directly in front of the door. Heavy side tables and ripped couches piled against the door as aimless banging echoed through the darkened building. It was the only noise we could note and that kept our guard up.

The buildings lobby had a small living room area, now emptied of furniture, and a marble top desk facing the entry way. Directly ahead of the door, a narrow hallway led to another door, that seemed to be left alone. We locked and barricaded it anyway. There were small offices lining the left side of the hallway and to the right, the staircase opened, leading up to the apartments. The elevator door next to it was opened and empty. 

"Too quiet?" I whispered. He nodded and led the way up the stairs. We remained prepared, but were not met with any conflict. The first and second floors smelled strongly of rotting flesh and food. The building was no doubt occupied, but not by anything living. We checked each door, lightly knocking and awaiting a response.  
Only a few rooms held occupants who sounded as if they continued to walk into their shut doors, attempting to miraculously break through. We searched through the remaining empty apartments gathering as much supply as we could. No matter what floor we found shelter on, we needed to inspect the entire building. Dean liked surprises less than I did. 

When we reached the third floor of apartments, the smell was less overwhelming. It was impractical to stay high up from the ground, but the air felt less polluted and the floor seemed quieter. We settled with spoiling ourselves on the third floor of apartments.

"We should stay close to the window at the end of the hall," Dean suggested. 

"We can do that in case we need to bottleneck. Roof hatch is up here by the end of the steps though."

"Noted," he replied. We checked each door just as we had on the other two floors. At the end of the hallway, Dean stopped, looking at the two adjacent doors. 

"Ladies choice?" he asked. I shook my head at him. His attempt at lightening the mood proved futile. He rolled his eyes and huffed. He stepped to the door on his left and knocked lightly on it. We heard no obvious response and he knocked again. Still nothing sounded on the other side. He glanced once at me before putting his ear to the door and as he rested his head, BANG!

Dean jumped back and caught himself, mumbling swears under his breath. I couldn't help but laugh at the vulnerability of the new Cain. 

"Shut up," he hissed as the banging continued. "You do the next one."

I shook my head at him, smiling and knocked on the opposite door. This time I waited an extra moment before knocking again, a little louder. We heard no shuffling, no surprise banging, and no moans. It was our shelter for the evening. Dean picked the lock and I led the way in. Our bodies were tired and broken and weighed down with the extra supplies we had collected from the building.  
The home was empty with the exception of the visually painful patterns on each wall and piece of furniture. It truly hurt the eyes to take it in, but it was safety for the night and it would do.

We were lucky enough to have running water, even if it was ice cold. Its chill washed off the crusted layers of blood and hardship that piled on every day. We had walked this town and atmosphere for a few weeks now and nothing seemed to be changing. We slept on hard, cold ground and old mattresses, under bridges and in broken homes. We lived among infestation. We fought it everyday and there was no sign we were any closer to finding familiarity. When we got small hints of it as we did today with that little boy, it was snatched from us. 

It turned to blood spatter and death. Black eyes. I know I saw black eyes. It moved so quickly after it turned. Even one with as much fresh hunger as it had would never move that quickly. Even more so, it fought Dean with a might we hadn't seen. I saw the smoke. He must have seen it too, but we said nothing of it. There was nothing to say. We knew what was happening around us. It wasn't real. We were pawns in a game. We were being toyed with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "With Teeth" by Nine Inch Nails


	9. 9 Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Emma and Dean's efforts to survive, they find they're walking in circles. Can they fight their way out or will they be stuck in their dome?

It was a warmer night than we had experienced in a while, but we needed a fire. The apartment we had found had enough in it to make our stay comfortable. The roof gave us a small glimpse of the land laid out before us, but it was also just a painted picture. From the roof, I could only see the tops of buildings and forests. The town was quiet and not much destruction could be seen from where I stood. It looked as if nothing had plagued this world. It looked as though the town slept peacefully. 

I poured what small amount of fuel we had on the pile of wood Dean collected throughout our venture to this point. It burned low as it swallowed the oxygen around. It fed and fed until it grew bright and hot. The heat swam to kiss my cheek and it was a pleasant feeling. Despite the night being warmer than most, the chill stayed close. I wrapped up in a horribly patterned sheet and scooted close to the warmth, staring into the orange and yellow and red. 

I kept finding black eyes in everything I saw. Even the ragged breathing below us wasn't enough to distract me from the image. I only saw the undead, rotted and ripped with black in their eyes, aware and awake.

"Lucky us," Dean said. He stepped up from the roof hatch, two bottles in hand. Dark liquid swam in them, beckoning me. My heart swelled at the sight. 

"Where did you find this?" I said happily, taking the offered bottle. 

"Our neighbors were quite the drinkers," he smirked. He sat cross-legged, adjacent to me and sipped from the bottle. I could see him grit his teeth with the joyous burn he felt. I wasted no time and took my own gulp. It warmed my throat and belly and my muscles relaxed. Scotch wasn't to my liking, but it felt like home in this moment. I gulped it down again, taking in a bit more.

"Whoa. Let it last a bit at least."

I lifted my bottle and gulped down the remaining. I wanted this to sit in my belly and swim to my head as quickly as possible and it needed to happen soon. Initially Dean's face had relaxed, but it now looked me over sadly. I didn't meet his gaze. I didn't need to be asked about anything and I wasn't going to be coaxed in to talking about what had happened today. Every so often, Dean held this mentality and I hoped in this moment he would. He obliged and remained quiet, sipping at his drink, savoring it. 

We stared out in front of us, scanning the tops of small buildings in a small town. It seemed to go on forever. From this point, it looked more like a maze than when we were on the ground. There was no obvious path out and no obvious direction we could take. We were lost. This town wasn't any place either of us had ever visited and we were sure we had traveled every where in our years hunting. 

"Emma," he finally said. 

"I fucked up, Dean." My head swam and I wanted to bask in the feeling, but this was the subject now and instead, the events of earlier sat front and center. "I almost got us both killed. We don't know what we're dealing with and I messed up."

He sat in silence, staring at me for too long before he finally looked away and gulped down the remainder of his drink. He didn't argue my point and he didn't agree. He just let it sit in the air. I had failed as a partner in our survival. Dean was capable of making the ultimate survival decisions while I floated around in our dreamland. I was clouded by heroism and good intention. 

"It won't happen again," I promised. He let silence sit between us once again and I accepted it as an understanding. I stood slowly to ensure my balance and found to my surprise, the alcohol had not hit me as I had hoped. I made my way down the roof hatch ladder and back to our apartment with no struggle or unclear thought. 

Tonight, I would dream vividly and I would remember it all. I was not incoherent, I was not stumbling, I was not drunk. And that was unfortunate. The apartment was cool, but the lack of air flow throughout the building made it warmer than outside. I dropped the sheet on the couch and the patterns struggled to mesh and it gave me a headache. I stood at the window looking out to the front of the building. The crowd that had chased us to the entrance had dispersed and began to wander aimlessly in the middle of the street. They dragged their weight and bumped into each other, startled by one another's existence. 

The front door behind me opened and closed lightly and Dean's boots shuffled against the brown carpeting. His bottle lightly thudded against the coffee table as he placed it down. I didn't bother to turn to look at him. I hoped he would just pick a room and call it a night. Maybe I'd be able to think clearer if he weren't here.

My body felt tense and uncomfortable recalling everything. Watching the shuffling below only added to the growing sickness under my skin. I felt him move behind me. He was quiet and his breathing steady, but I could feel the warmth radiate off of him. It motioned the atmosphere and I was suddenly very aware of his presence and how close he had come. He stood directly behind me and I could feel his breath brush against my skin. 

It was only seconds of this realization before he placed a hand on my upper arm and I froze. We hadn't drunk enough to lower any inhibitions, yet he stood against me, his hand on either side of me. His grip tightened a little and it relaxed me. He leaned in and I could feel the tip of his nose brush along the nape of my neck and up to my jaw. He had anticipated my resistance, but I moved my head enough to stretch my neck, gesturing my acceptance. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment before brushing his lips just behind my ear. Chills ran down my spine but I was no longer aware of the cold. The hairs on my body rose and he brushed his hand along the goosebumps and up to my neck, where he gripped it, taking control of my motions. His other hand ventured to my hip and tightened around the used muscles. 

His breath grew warm as he opened his mouth and placed it on the muscle lining my shoulder. His teeth grazed it lightly before his lips followed in its path. A short breath escaped my lips and my insides warmed more than the liquor had attempted to do. I wanted to melt into him. This wasn't how I dealt with things. I sought out the bottom of a bottle or a head to place on a spike. 

Hunting was my meditation. Hunting cleared my head. Not this. But in this moment, I wanted to give in and give up. I turned to face him, preparing to express my rejection and leave him in it. This wasn't how I dealt with things.

His eyes peered into mine and I saw no trace of shame or desperation. He was just there, in the moment, seemingly prepared for any response I had. He didn't resist, he didn't press the issue. He just simply waited. 

His eyes were large and green and patient. I saw the loneliness in him, the loss, the burden, and the diminishing hope. The Mark was nonexistent to him. As if it had never been given to him. As if he never did anything to earn it. He was just a man, as lost as any other, clearing out the brush to find a path that never seemed to be there. I saw myself in him and it frightened me. I hadn't seen me in a long while. 

We hadn't moved for a while it seemed. His hand had moved to rest on my cheek and I could feel the rough skin and silk scars that lined his palm. This was not how I dealt with things.

The consent seemed to implode before bursting out and drawing us both in. He pressed his face into mine hard and the desperation was more evident in both of us. Fabric brushed harshly against my skin as we fumbled to remove our layers from one another. The bundles dropped wherever we were at the moment and they trailed down the narrow hallway to the bedroom at the end. It seemed silly to move this far in the home, almost naturally courteous to use a bedroom, but this is where we ended our path. 

Freshly sewn wounds stretched and old ones slid against our callused skin. Our bones felt sharp and unnaturally placed from the years of breaks and repairs. We had both lived this life, been swallowed by it, and it showed in our deformities. 

The skin on my face felt irritated from the friction of his stubble and my lips tingled and swelled from our entanglement. We separated for a moment and removed what under layers remained. We stared for a moment, looking over one another. It felt like a hunt. We wanted to know the territory, it's points of infiltration and vulnerability. We needed to be at the point of total control.

I made the first move and placed my hand on his chest, pushing against it. He lost his balance in the surprise and sat on the end of the bed. He kept his sights on me, focusing on my face. He seemed to be constantly looking for consent. He held the notion that at any moment, I would feel regret or remorse and turn to leave. I stepped toward him to close our gap, but his eyes remained on mine. I bent slightly to grab his rested hands and placed them on my hips. He needed permission, so I would give it to him. I would dictate boundaries and progress. His hands moved against my skin, tracing the curves. His fingers would single out my scars before moving on to explore. 

His demeanor had always been hardened and distant. He bottled his troubles and let it thicken his skin, the safe his secrets were held in. But this was not the man with me here. I felt his change and engulfed myself in it.  
He leaned in and kissed a lining along my stomach, his hands still moving slowly along my skin. They finally stopped at my thighs and he gripped tightly. His breath had felt heavier and warmer.

 

 

Everything in me shook and I finally felt the pressure of the floor on my side where I lay. A thin layer of sweat lay evenly across me like a sheet and I realized I was in the living room, laying against the couch. I shook loose the visions and feelings that lingered in my slumber. I had no explanation of what I had just dreamt of and the more I thought about it, the less I remembered and my body grew cold again. My body felt stiff and it cracked as I moved to look around. 

Dean stood in the kitchen opening, staring at the entrance door to the apartment. Something in my gut twisted and I suddenly felt sick at the sight of him and the sweat on my forehead began to bead again.

"What are you --"

"Shh," he stopped me. His body was tense and he looked pale as he continued to stare at the framing of the door. I stood and straightened my clothing, letting the sheet fall off me. Whatever it was he was staring at, he seemed to be trying to will it to life and move it with his mind.

"Dean!" I heard the yell echo in hallways below us and it set my hairs to stand on end.  
 _Sam_

"Dean?!" The yell echoed again. Before I registered my full disbelief, Dean had unlocked the door and bolted down the hallway.

"Sam!" I heard his call fade beneath the stairwell. 

"Dean, wait!" I yelled after him, grabbing my machete and rushing off after him. He had made it down to the main lobby and pushed the furniture out of the way. 

"Dean, stop!" I warned him.  
The light beamed through the open crack in the door and as its barricade loosened, a swarm of zombies rushed through and seemed to swallow the previously emptied space. Dean was lost in the crowd and I could only hear him continue to yell for Sam before I couldn't hear him at all. 

The light that had stepped inside our building was blocked again by what our world had become; a destructive wave of dead eyes and I was ripped apart by it.

 

 

I could feel pebbles of dirt and cold floor rest against my bare skin and the pressure in my arms released. My hands felt a pressure in the fingertips that cascaded into pin needles tingling my palms and through my arms. I felt heavy, but weak and my mind couldn't seem to place itself into any certain reality.

"Emma!" I heard Sam's muffled yells. _Why is he yelling at me?_ I could smell his skin and the smell lured my brain to the present. I tried to open my eyes and caught a glimpse of his face above mine, but I couldn't make out the details.

 

My head hung in the air and the world was upside down. The tingling in my arms was gone, and my torso was covered in warm cloth. I didn't have the energy to lift my head, but I pried my eyes open to gather an understanding. I saw the bottom of a pair of feet attached to lifeless legs, but as I tried to follow the lining of the body, it stopped at the knees and I only saw a tan coat on a man I did not recognize.

"You're okay."  
The whisper had come from the clouds that carried me to my finality. I felt relief and it rocked me to sleep.

 

 

_I could feel the pulsing in my face, but the crack it had made echoed in my head. I gathered myself, but hoped I had been knocked out of my nightmare. When I looked back at her, my fears were confirmed. Her eyes were black and the gun was still pointed at me. The creature that stared back at me and devoured the girl I fell in love with, the one that showed me I could save me from myself._

_Our relationship was never built on my dependency despite the baggage I carried when I first joined the Army. I only wanted to escape the violence in my own home and fill it with a purpose I could believe to be bigger than myself. That idea saved me from the guilt of leaving my sister behind when I enlisted. I was aware of my being selfish, but Kate had pulled that out of me and worked me through it. She made me a whole person and a better soldier.  
That was all absorbed in the darkness that stood before me._

_"What are you?" I asked._

_She laughed at me._

_"I am stronger," she said."You can be, too. You can be with us. We're going to blaze a trail to greatness."_

_I looked at the few soldiers that stood beside her. My own men cloned in the darkness I saw in her. I did what I only thought I could. I grabbed her hand and twisted the gun from it smoothly, grasping it now in my own. I swayed it back and forth between the lot of them. They stepped back a moment before gathering themselves to stand in defense._

_"Don't," I pleaded desperately._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Black" by Kari Kimmel


	10. 10 Pompeii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean and Emma back in the bunker, it's time to piece their shattered minds back together.  
> Emma meets Castiel

A warm wet tongue lathered my cheek and the breath pierced my nostrils before the hairs tickled my face. I coughed at the sudden gulp I had taken of hellish air and my eyes watered. Through the blurred slits in my eyes, I could see black and white and pink all mesh together and I heard her whimper. The tears slid down my face and I felt actual peace run over my body. She continued to lick my face and whimper at me until I opened my eyes. I could see the honey swimming in hers and I wrapped my arms around her upper body. I pecked small kisses all over her face despite her pushing away from the smothering. I finally let her go and she moved her paws along her face as if to wipe my slobber away.

"It's not all that fun, is it?" I teased her.

"It's good to see you up," Sam spoke from the door, startling me. He smiled at me and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Chives dragged herself along the bed to lay in the space between us. She rolled onto her back and pawed in the air at Sam. She carried a long, dark pink scar along her belly and I stared at it for a long moment.

Sam narrowed his eyes at me and suddenly he looked aged. 

"What --" I asked.

"What do you remember?" he interjected. 

"Honestly, it feels like I was hit by a train. What is --" I couldn't seem to form the question properly.

"Emma," he started. "What do you remember last?"

It felt like he had spoken slowly enough to enunciate every word in the sentence and by the end, bile had risen in my throat. Short fragments of settings and experiences flashed in front of me and I felt the blood from my face drain.

"Dean --" I started.

"He's okay."

"How -- W-where --" I couldn't seem to muster the brain power to form a full sentence or any volume higher than a whisper.

"Do you recall anything before leaving here?"  
I nodded and stared off, trying to picture the sequence in my head. A white building, emptied on the inside -- a brown door --  
My thoughts trailed off.

"The bunker was beeping. Dean said --"

"It tracks supernatural occurrences," he finished.  
"We just went to check it out, but --" I searched my head for an answer to anything. I recalled nothing, but dark clouds and an abandoned apartment building. I looked up to find Sam was still watching me.

"Did you find us at the factory?" I asked.

"Factory?" His face only expressed more concern and confusion. "We found the pinpoint the bunker registered and the map on the laptop showed us where you might have gone, but there was no factory."

"Brown door --" I managed to push out.

"We found you in a basement. The entrance was a brown door," he confirmed.

"We heard screaming in the basement of the factory," I said mindlessly.

"There was no factory," he repeated slowly. I looked up at him quickly. We were in the factory basement, I was sure of it. 

"What?" Sam examined my face and understood that my mind was mush.

"We found you and Dean fifteen miles out from that pinpoint."

I kept searching in my head and the pressure built behind my eyes. I was unsure of everything around me. I grabbed at Sam's shoulder and squeezed it between my fingers. I noticed the small scabbed cuts on my fingers from when I had been sharpening my blade before the beeping went off in the bunker. I had forgotten they were there. I saw my wrists were wrapped in gauze and taped. _What the hell is happening?_

"We got a signal in the bunker a day ago that led us to the basement off an old farm," he finished.  
I moved quickly to stand and felt a pain surge through my hips. Sam caught me before I fell and sat me back down on the bed slowly.

"We should get you something to eat," he said. He turned to leave the room and I released a noise that didn't seem to form into a full word. He stopped in the doorway and turned to me.

"I'll come with you," I said.

 

Sam didn't put much effort in holding me steady as he led me through the hallway to the main corridor with Chives at the front. When we reached the main room, the Mapped table and laptop sat silent and I suddenly found them eerie.  
He brought me up the small set of steps and I looked up to find Dean sitting at the end of the far table with a man in a tan coat. Our eyes met and everything inside me tensed. Flashes of whatever I had mixed in my head became lucidly clear. Moments of blood spatter, the smell of rot, the sound of his paced breathing in my ear sent my head in a spin.  
He had stood up quickly in response and he winced at the sudden movement, but the man accompanying him held him steady and sat him back down. Sam was waiting patiently for me to continue moving forward, but I was weary to step forward. I didn't want anymore flashes and I didn't want anymore tension. Dean didn't look back up at me and I paid him the same kindness. His wrists were bandaged and his face was drained.

We finally made it to the table he sat at and I gestured to take the seat farthest from Dean on the opposite end of the table. Sam assumed it was out of exhaustion and that was an acceptable excuse to use.  
A man in a tan coat walked over to me and stared down; something about him seemed familiar.

"I am Castiel," he said in a deepened voice.

"Emma," I replied. He didn't relax his face, but nodded in response. He sat down in the seat closest to Dean and folded his hands in his lap as Sam moved out of the room and into the kitchen

"Emma," he said, nodding at me again. "We need to find out what happened --"

"Not now, Cas," Dean interrupted. 

"But Dean, we need to --"

"Not. Now," Dean spat.  
Castiel's face looked sad, like a small child that had just been told he wasn't allowed to watch television until he completed his homework.

"Are you a hunter, Castiel?" I annunciated the strange name to ensure I spoke it correctly; it wasn't a common name.

"I'm an -- angel," he stuttered. My body tensed and I could only think of grabbing my blade, but I remained unarmed and vulnerable. I stood, pushing the chair out from underneath me and the bruised muscles throbbed, but I paid them no mind. Dean didn't seem thwarted by this, but I still stood defensively, ready to react if I had to.

"Why is he here?" I asked finally.

"What? _Him?_ " Dean asked.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the angel reasoned.

"Bullshit. I've met enough of you," I spat.

"Emma, calm down," Dean demanded of me. "He's one of us. On our side -- most of the time." Dean shot Castiel a look and the angel looked almost ashamed.

Sam returned to the room with plates of food for Dean and I. A grilled cheese, small bowl of soup, and glass of what smelled like ginger ale was set lazily on a food tray. He stopped short and looked up to find I had moved from my original seating and Dean staring me down.

"Sam, can you tell her Cas is kosher?"  
Sam nodded at me as he placed the tray of food between Dean and I. What other choice did I have but to trust them? An angel would have killed all of us at this point, especially if this was Sam's assistance in finding us.

"Thanks for the cure-all, mother hen." Dean was, as usual, in a fighting mood.

"Thank you," I said calmly. I stared down at my food and despite the homely gesture, I was in no mood to eat, but I sat, letting the throbbing in my body calm.

"I see you didn't let me die," Dean said, breaking the long silence. Whatever it was that fueled that comment leaked out in his tone and the sentence felt dirty.  
I could see Sam thin his lips and flex his jaw, but Castiel's reaction buried it.

"No, we didn't let you die," he snapped, adding emphasis to each word. His voice had a commanding tone. It was almost hard to believe he looked like a lost child a moment ago. Dean pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. Whatever happened between the three of them before I came along was nowhere near dealt with. It scratched in the air now and wrapped around me like steel wool.

"How long have you been an honorary Winchester?" I asked Castiel, attempting to deter the mood. It took a moment for Castiel's annoyance to dissipate, but he looked content when he thought over my question.

"Long enough," he said calmly. Well, that subject change didn't work the way I wanted.

"Emma," Sam spoke calmly. "Whenever you're ready to tell us what happened -- "  
He left the gesture open for me to work off of, but I looked over at Dean who had turned to look at me. We were both hesitant to say anything, but I was unsure of why. Sam turned to look at Dean, but his face turned away to avoid locking eyes with his brother.

"There's clearly some other stuff for you guys to work out," I interrupted. "So I'm just going to --"

"Emma," Sam said softly. "We're just trying to find out what happened and how you got there?"

"Got where?" I asked, exhausted.

"We found you in a barn basement, strung up, bare and alone," Castiel said.  
Sam shot him a look. "This is taking too long," he said, responding to Sam's expression.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "Did you say _bare?_ "

"Yes," Castiel replied simply.

"Care to elaborate?" he quipped.

"We found you both in a barn 15 miles out from where the bunker pinpointed you. You were both shackled and strung up side-by-side --" Sam paused a moment then looked down. "-- naked."

"What?" "What?" Dean and I shouted together. Sam jumped a little at the elevated sound.

"Like a sex dungeon?!" Dean asked frantically.  
Sam rolled his eyes at the suggestion. "No, you both were out cold and aside from looking pale, there was no bruising but on your wrists."

"You both were gone for 3 weeks," Castiel added.

"This keeps getting better," Dean sighed, placing his head in his hands. I looked over at Sam with all of the confusion I felt and his face remained serious.

"You weren't being drained like a Djinn would do, so we rule that out, but Emma remembers a brown door in a basement. Does that sound familiar to you?" Sam asked.

Dean and I looked at each other and slowly, his face grew familiar, as if within the few minutes of staring at him, searching for answers, the years between us grew. I felt safe with him, bound to him in survival and blood and I understood him. At some point, I had hated this man. He was obnoxious and unreasonable and he held his anger in just to let it out on Sam and I trapped in the bunker with him, but that's not who I saw now. 

Now -- _this_ man had followed my wishes to save imaginary victims from imaginary peril. We had followed each other into buildings neither of us trusted. We fought through hordes of creatures fixated on devouring us and we always came out on the other side. We foraged and sought out shelter, built fires for warmth and carried one another when the other couldn't keep moving. We had spent what felt like months together, wandering in a world we had lost to evil.

"No," he lied, keeping his gaze on me. "I don't remember that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Pompeii" by Bastille


	11. 11 Krwling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Emma continue to dig for answers with Sam and Chives by their side.

I paced in the dirt and gulped in the brisk air. I felt the pang in my ribs with every breath and the pain kept my heart beating. The small canyon walls that surrounded the area stared down at me and white puffs of smoke billowed from the power plant in the distance. I closed my eyes tight and listened to the rivers rushing water, the birds chirping all around, and the sound of Chives's feet pattering against the dirt as she circled me. These were the sounds that were so plainly missing in the world Dean and I trekked through. 

Despite the welcomed noise, being out here wasn't an escape from my own head or the things locked away in it. Sam had followed me out and leaned against the railing by the main door, watching me. He never showed any semblance of judgment. It was always concern on his face and questioning in his eyes.

Chives laid at the edge of the water and I envied her relaxation. I couldn't help but wonder if she ever thought of leaving me after all she had endured and I wasn't sure it would get any better.

"I need you to take me back to the basement," I said.  
I could see Sam turn to look at me, but he didn't speak. 

"Please Sam," I said. He pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn't need to like the situation, he just needed to understand that we needed to keep digging. Whatever it was that was going on didn't fit together and I would not continue to play pawn. Sam had been as clueless about the situation as I was and Dean seemed keen on lying, although I couldn't pinpoint why, but I kept up the facade with him. I whistled for Chives to come up and looked back at him.

Before I could register the tan coat standing there, two fingers moved up to my head and pressed to my temple. Everything in me pulsed and for a moment I felt absolute comfort in my being. It was like a moment of clarity and comfort and rebirth. It surged from my toes and finger tips and shot up into my brain.

The feeling exploded in my cranium and the pain sent my body tumbling underneath me. The pain in my ribcage was gone along with the scabs and bruising on my hands and wrists. My mind felt in order with the exception of the migraine that throbbed behind my eyes.

"Cas, what the hell?" Sam yelled, bending to check on me.

"I'm okay," I said, standing and fighting the throbs away.

"She has it, too," he said slowly. The confusion in his voice was clear, but he found confirmation of something in his magic trick.

"What?" "What?" Sam and I blurted out simultaneously.  
"I don't know yet. Dean had the same reaction when I healed him. There's something in him that I can't -- reach. My suspicions, I fear, are correct. She has it, too."

"The day only gets better, huh?" I said.

"This is good news to you?" he asked blankly.

"Nevermind," I said, giving in. He wasn't a fully colored crayon it seemed. I had expected more presence from a celestial being. 

"I need to look around," he continued.

"Okay Cas. We're going back to the basement -- see if we can dig up something," Sam said.

 

The drive was relatively quiet with the exception of Sam listing off directions for Dean to follow and Dean's pouting and complaining of "dog smell" in his precious vehicle. He couldn't deny the use we could get from Chives's keen sense of smell and awareness. She was attune to the smell and subtle sounds of uncommonly seen creatures.

We turned into a dirt road and stopped in front of a large home centered in the plot of land. The yard was vibrantly green and the home looked freshly painted and well kept. Even the barn that sat to the left of it looked too clean to be suspected of age, or use for that matter. 

"This is it?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, pointing out to a block of darkened wood on the side of a red barn.

"I don't recognize this," I said, still searching the land from all points in the vehicle. 

"Let's do this." Dean and Sam exited simultaneously and I followed, watching as they filled a duffle bag of canister salt, shotguns, knives, holy water, flashlights, and knives. I had stopped questioning their survival long ago. 

Sam led us to the ground door that stared up at us, almost taunting.  
I could sense some mutual feeling of hesitation in Dean before we stepped inside. We weren't sure what we would find and we weren't sure we'd be able to fill in the empty holes of our story, at least not to our comfort. The reason that this life sat well with me was because I didn't like not knowing the truth about anything and everything. Some things were understandably mysterious, but when so strange an occurrence meets you in your path, it's not easy enough to walk around it and ignore its presence.

There were small spots of dried blood spattered just below the long hanging chains we were cuffed to. Sam had mentioned we both had dried blood under our noses, which may have been a side-effect of whatever was put in us, along with the starvation and dehydration. The basement was clean and emptied aside from those chains and what little color our blood provided. I was broken away by the sound of Chives paws digging in at the corner of the basement. She scraped her paws along the concrete, gathering the dirt that stuck in the crevice.  
She growled at the small pile she had gathered, then pawed at me as I kneeled down beside her. It couldn't be.  
I brushed my finger along the texture and pressed my thumb to rub the dirt along my skin. White specks sat amongst the dirt and I brought to my nose, to sniff lightly at it.  
"Sulfur," I whispered. _What were demons doing here?_  
"Demons?" Sam asked. "What would they be doing here?"  
It always worked like this; more questions, less answers. I wiped the crumbs on my pants and pet the top of Chives's head. This made less sense, but it was better than nothing.

"This seems a bit elaborate for demons." Dean spoke for all of us. Dean and I had been placed in a dream state to die out in the real world, but that was Djinn M.O.. Instead, we find sulfur in our prison.

We reached the surface and Dean closed the basement doors behind us. I looked out to the direction of the house, studying the clean structure. _Someone's home,_ I thought, watching the second story curtains sway from behind the clear window.  
"We've got company," I said tapping Dean on the arm and gesturing to the house.  
"You guys take the front, we'll take the back?" I suggested. 

Chives and I made our way as silently as we could to back of the home, where a small porch sat a few steps up from the ground. With a loud bang, Dean and Sam broke through the front door and as planned, the back door swung open. The boy that emerged looked to be in his early twenties, but his height was shorter than average for a person his age. He jumped the encompassing railing and landed on the ground, taking off in the field ahead of him. 

"Go get him, girl," I said. Chives launched off the ground and sprinted to follow him. I casually strolled to the porch as Sam and Dean emerged from the door, ready for a chase. They caught glimpse of me and followed my line of sight, as I kept careful watch on the black and white blur launching into the air and onto the shoulders of the boy that had tried so desperately to escape.

"That's our cue," I said, jogging off into the field.  
Chives was small, but young and energetic and much stronger than she appeared. Every so often, she convinced me she enjoyed doing this, but her stamina seemed to increase since our stay at the bunker. She got 3 square meals a day, plenty of love from the giant, and slept on memory foam every night so far. Her year of turmoil with me was paying off and she reveled in it.

We searched the rest of the home, as Dean and Sam tied the boy to a kitchen chair centered in a devil's trap. The home was clean in every room, except where the smell of rotting flesh surged from underneath the door of the master bedroom on the second floor. Upon entry, 4 bodies lay peacefully along the King bed in the center of the room. Each were dressed neatly in their 'Sunday' outfits and it looked as though someone had applied makeup to each of their faces. The decolorization in their skin made the makeup cake on the surface. Their throats had been slit, but there were only small trails of blood lining their necks as if they were continuously cleaned. Maggots and flies had claimed their feeding grounds in the wounds.

The smell had become overwhelming for Chives and I, but this was also an opportunity to get answers. Downstairs, Sam and Dean had begun working the boy over for information, pouring holy water down his throat and yelling their questions at him. I stood in the doorway, watching the steam rise from his mouth. His eyes had blackened to show his true nature and he laughed maniacally in the midst of his screams. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said slyly, focusing on me. Recognizing a demon was close to impossible when they changed out their meat-suit so often. Castiel might have been of some assistance in identifying the creature that seemed to know me.

"How do you know her?" Dean asked. The demon didn't respond, glowering back at him. His skin sizzled as Dean sprinkled him with more holy water.

"How do you know her?" he repeated loudly.

"She -- is -- one -- of -- us," he spoke through painful laughter. One of them?  
Dean and Sam set their sights on me and without hesitation, he tossed holy water at my face. I spit air at the excess dripping my mouth and stared at him in annoyance.

"I'm _not_ one of them," I said. I lifted the hem of my shirt to reveal my tattoo. It sat where it always had, where they had seen it when I showed them in the diner. I dried my face on my sleeve and stepped toward the demon.

"How am I one of you?" I asked calmly.  
He smiled at me and bowed his head. 

"Your grace," he said. "You are to be our princess."  
He continued to laugh loudly.

"Are you one of Abaddon's or Crowley's?" Sam asked. The demon smiled and shook his head, but Dean cut him short, hitting him across the face. He held the creatures face in his hands and looked down on him.

"Who pulls the strings on you, you little bastard?" he asked softly. The demon continued to laugh and I could see the anger build in Dean. He picked up the canister of salt and bottle of holy water, thrusting it at me. He grabbed the demons head and pressed tightly along his jaw to open it and face him up.

"Pour," he demanded of me.

"You want to water-board him?" I asked.

"Pour!" he demanded again. So I did and the demons skin and mouth sizzled as he gargled screams and coughs. Dean gestured for more and more and so I continued to pour salt and holy water into its throat until both jugs were almost emptied.

He coughed out syllables, but Dean continued to hold his face, water spitting out like a small fountain as he gasped for air.

"Dean!" I yelled and he seemed to wake up, letting go of the demons face. It coughed more and gasped heavily.

"Ap --" he struggled. 

"What?" I breathed. 

"Apollyon!" 

Dean and I stared up at each other, confused. When we looked at Sam, he seemed wide-eyed and pale. He seemed to know something we didn't. He moved past us and held the demon knife to the creatures throat.

"You're lying," he said in a huff. The demon shook his head carefully and smiled slightly. Sam didn't say anything else as he casually thrusted the demon blade into the creatures chest. The orange lightning flashed within him and he limped and faded.

"Who's Apollyon?" Dean asked. Sam stood silently staring at the floor. His eyes moved like he was searching for something and he struggled to swallow.

"Nothing good," he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Krwling" by Linkin Park (from the Reanimation album)


	12. 12 Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The struggle for answers continues and Emma finds herself in a predicament

Nothing seemed to help me sleep, but I didn't really feel exhaustion anymore. Exerting my energy didn't help physically, but it cleared my mind. I was almost thankful for the bunker and its many useful rooms, especially the one Sam and Dean had modified for strength training. I'm not sure Dean used it as much as the gun range, but Sam had given me permission to use it and I had been in here every night for the past week. We had been coming up empty everyday since meeting that demon and the lack of direction surged under my skin.  
I paced my breathing with every lift. My legs fell from above my head and I tightened my core as the elastic band caught my shins, giving me the bounce I needed to lift my legs back above me. The blood rushed to my head and the pressure built and released with my breathing. Everything in me vibrated, but I kept moving. It was the only thing I knew how to do.

My movements stayed steady with each combination of exertion. The only formal training I had received was during my younger days in the army. The lessons were useful for hunting, but I didn't bother to practice much. Hand-to-hand combat was never something that interested me, but I was quick to react and that allowed me to possess the skill to think logically in a multitude of situations. It kept me alive.

 

My fist collided with the leather that wrapped around sand and rag and hung from the ceiling. The impact radiated through my wrist to my shoulder and I could feel each muscle contract. I continued to hit at the bag, keeping my fists close to my face as I brought them back to rest. The sound of the impact echoed in my head and I reveled in the isolation of it, but I was pulled back by the presence I felt behind me. Arms wrapped around my shoulders and squeezed. Flashes hit me one after the other; standing against the window, watching the undead scramble around, Dean's hands on me, his lips on my neck.

I stepped forward with force, then back and diagonally to throw him off balance. Grabbing his shoulder, I pulled his weight forward and over my shoulder, sending him tumbling over me and placing him on his back. I kept my grip on his arm and twisted it as I held it erect.

"Okay, Uncle!" Dean yelled from below me. "It's me, jeez."

"I know it is," I said letting go of his arm to let him up.

"Before or after you flipped me?"

"Before," I shrugged. "But that's what you get for coming up to me like that."

"Lesson learned," he said, brushing himself off. Dean looked around the room as if he'd never stepped in it before and it didn't seem he had. He pushed the hanging bag with his forefinger and sent it swinging. 

“You don't sleep much, do you?” I asked, removing the ace bandage from around my knuckles.

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped.

I studied his movements and he looked restless. He mindlessly rubbed his forearm as he walked along the matted floor.

“How good are you?” His eyebrows came together and his mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. I put my balled fists up and bounced lightly on my toes.

“How good are you?” I repeated.

He smiled and rubbed his chin, loosening his stance.

“I'm not hitting a girl.”

I stopped jumping and slumped in disappointment.

“Don't do that,” I said. “Don't make 'girl' a standard unit of measurement, then place it lowest on the scale.”  
He seemed to stare off in the distance, letting go of the current conversation.  
"Why did you lie?" I asked.

He looked up at me, but it took him some time to pull himself back into the present. "I didn't."

"Why are you lying now?" I asked. He squinted his eyes at me before twisting his face in frustration and anger, then turned to walk out.  
"What's the Mark?" I asked.

"What?" he stopped, turning to look back at me and there was a flash of red that seemed to radiate off of him.

"You and I both experienced something. No one else was there with us, Dean. Not anyone alive at least. Don't play dumb with me. Why did you lie? What Mark did I see when --"  
I stopped myself recalling the intimate moment him and I had shared, but I wasn't entirely sure we both experienced it. He stared at me, wide-eyed for a moment, waiting for me to continue, but I tightened my lips and stared at him. 

He finally looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor. "I don't have time for this," he huffed, turning to leave again. I was left in ringing silence, alone.

 

The rushing hot water only played as white noise to block the surrounding audio, but the heat felt good on my skin. Showering used to clean the dirt of the day from my body and mind, but it wasn't as cleansing these past few days. We were all becoming complacent, sitting day-after-day studying Ragnarok theories and awaiting word of any mysterious activity or deaths. We didn't take vacations in this line of work.I had once thought it was possible when I had my dreams of settling in California, but I had only been proven wrong when I was led to the Winchesters.

I turned the water off and inhaled the steam that filled the room, but my relaxation didn't last long before I finally caught the obnoxious beeping echoing throughout the bunker. I threw on my clothes and rubbed my head lazily with the towel in a feeble attempt to dry it.

Sam was standing at the mapped table, looking at the laptop that always sat on top of it. He clicked away, staring at the screen with no acknowledgement of my presence or Dean emerging behind me. 

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Mysterious series of deaths in Springfield, Missouri – off route 60, it looks like. Worth checking out," Sam responded.

"Better than sitting around here," Dean agreed. "No dogs though. I can't handle that for a long drive like this."

"I don't plan on bringing her. She's safer here," I said, rolling my eyes at him. 

 

Sitting in a vehicle for almost 7 hours with the Winchesters is one of the most tense experiences and I've dealt with a large, varying group of creatures from the sewers with their teeth at my throat. It was an absolute blessing that Dean played music in his car, despite the ancient cassette tape having to be flipped over to Side B or switched out with another band. He knew loud music kept everyone from talking, but moreover it allowed us to sit inside our own heads and decipher the events that played out and the ones that had yet to pass.  
I didn't miss motels, but they were the only on-the-go headquarters we had available to us. We rented out conjoining rooms, but I was the only one to settle in. Dean and Sam wasted no time changing into their suits and packing their faux FBI gear. I was left to research on my own with our pack of beer and greasy food. In the silence, I missed Chives. At the very least, she'd be curled up in the center of the bed, but I knew she was safer at the bunker and able to take care of herself. We had set her up with plenty of food and water as a precaution if our stay extended longer than we anticipated. 

A few hours and bottles in, my eyes felt dried and blinded. I had read through articles and personal accounts of what was going on in Springfield. Many of these stories shared similarities in their timelines. Each victim complained of feeling nauseous early on and ended up dead 5 hours later. There didn't seem to be an obvious connection between any of the victims aside from their condition and seeming cause of death. 

"Sam, I don't need to hear it," Dean yelled from just outside the door. He opened the door with force and stomped his way into the other room, slamming the conjoining door closed. Sam walked in after him, clearly frustrated, but quiet. He took a breath and undid his tie.

"Honey I'm home?" I said sheepishly.

"Sorry -- just -- don't worry about that. What'd you find?" he asked. He pulled 2 beers from the half-emptied box I left out and popped them open, handing one to me.

"Not much. I couldn't find anything linking the victims together aside from their reported stories, but they were all accounts of the events from friends that were with them last. What about you?"

"Well, it turns out the first four victims all had the same results in their autopsy."

"And the fifth?"

"Awaiting the results -- Their entire insides were liquified -- every organ turned to jelly."

"No wonder I didn't see anything like that in the papers. What about toxicology reports?"

"All inconclusive. Pathologists couldn't decipher the cause and toxicologists couldn't get a complete reading of whatever caused it. There was mention of a warehouse though --"

"Yeah. Fosters warehouse --" I typed the name in and pulled up the article I had seen linked to one of the articles I read earlier. 

"Shut down in '54 due to a chemical leak. They couldn't find the source of it, but all the victims died the same way. There's no mention of liquefaction, but there were reports of complete organ failure."  
Sam hovered over me scanning the article I had pulled up.

"So what -- restless spirits of the victims taking revenge?"

"If they were on steroids, maybe. The strange thing was -- none of the victims now had any relation to the victims that had passed in the original outbreak." I thought for a moment.

"Who mentioned the warehouse?" I asked.

"Um, I think her name was Janice Palmer," Sam guessed. I typed in the name and multiple articles popped up. I pulled up the first one that only walked us through the her career profile as a local business woman. It led us nowhere and I felt like I was grasping at straws. I scrolled down on the results page and saw her last name paired with another I had recognized. The site filled the screen and I understood why I had recognized it.  
"Her father," I blurted. "Her name was Sanders before the warehouse was shutdown, but her father had it legally changed to Palmer a year after the outbreak. Sanders was the supervising manager the day of the outbreak."

"So he changes his name to -- avoid media?" Sam asked.

"Yes, but more so, he was nowhere to be found the day of the accident. He had left early to meet with a business partner for lunch. The Supervising managers for a company like this are trained on the chemicals that come in and out of the building and they are the only ones authorized to sign for their arrival and use. He took a lot of backlash for his abandonment and they shut the building down. He changed his last name a year later but --"

"But?"

"Well, look," I said pointing at one of the accompanying articles. "It says he died 3 days ago --"

"That's when the first death occurred," Sam said. "That's brilliant."

"Well, don't sound so surprised," I said looking up at him. He turned his face to meet mine and the space between us was closed a little more. I could feel his breath against my skin and he smelled of beer with hints of mint.

"It's a good start --" he said in an almost whisper. My body warmed at its core and something surged inside me.

"We should check it out." I cleared my throat and moved slowly to stand. He stepped aside and brushed the feeling off. 

"Uh, yeah, we'll go after dark," he nodded at me.

 

There had been rumors of the warehouse being haunted by the employees that were taken by the chemical outbreak in '54, but not many of their grandchildren came forward regarding the situation. A lot of speculation had surrounded the incident and as far as we could tell, there was still plenty of anger living around the event.  
This plot of land may have been a cheap purchase for its owners back in the day and they probably believed they were getting a bargain. The land was dried and dead and it was an eyesore, but that may have been why everything else around it were just fields alongside a highway. No lights surrounded the area, but the moon was bright enough to illuminate the broken building and its plot of land. 

The reports of an eerie feeling remained true and we all felt it upon our arrival. The area was quiet and it didn't comfort us that our weapons were limited. We only held what was left in the trunk of the Impala and our rock salt shots were limited. We split into two groups: Sam and I and Dean alone. It seemed to be a common theme that they split, but in my experience it had never worked out. They insisted and I didn't argue.  
We were weary of approaching the building and for good reason. The smell was pungent and raw and overwhelming, but it wasn't chemical that struck our noses. It was death.

Inside the building, the source of the smell laid all through the concrete halls. Body after body lay within even distance of each other set up like solar lights staked in a garden pathway.

"Hunters?" Sam said. Each body had their eyes plucked from their skulls and the word "HUNTER" sloppily carved into the foreheads. I hadn't even guessed there were this many hunters in the world, but I could only assume since activity increased, more people were pulled into it. We followed along each corpse until the building split into a continuing walkway and set of stairs. Dean continued up to the second floor despite my whispering protests. This was clearly a hunters trap and we had fallen for it. 

Sam and I continued through the ground floor, coming into an opening of storage shelves lined neatly parallel to the aisle next to it. There were no bodies sprinkled in this room, but the smell of rot turned into a chemical base that cooled the lungs. I kept my steps quiet and focused, but saw nothing more on the ground floor.

"Sam," I whispered. "We should move up."

He didn't answer and I turned to check on what his focus was, but nobody stood behind me. The lined shelves had vanished and I was alone in the center of a room I didn't recognize. The cooling in my lungs felt like ice now and I was sure I was hallucinating. The building hadn't been cleared of whatever deadly chemical swam in its vents and rendered this building useless decades ago. Sam and Dean inhaled the same air and they would be feeling this too. The nausea in my belly rose to my throat and I began to sweat as everything around me blurred and blackened.

 

 

I awoke on the ground with a pressure set on top of my stomach and the bile still sitting in my throat. It had almost pushed itself out as a sudden fire erupted on my side. The fire burned its way through my pores and to my muscle. I couldn't hear myself scream, but I felt the deflation in my lungs. A voice whispered in my ear.  
"You're mine," it said and I shrunk inside myself. 

 

 

"Emma," I heard echo around me. _Sam._ I tried pushing the thought out into words, but I didn't hear myself say it. Everything around me felt as though it had expanded and bubbled. 

"Emma," he said again in an echo. I went to lift my arms to rub my eyes and gather my surroundings, but my arms didn't move. I blinked hard and attempted to focus. Things were only a blackened blur before a bright light illuminated my blank environment. It was as if a large screen had rolled out and a projector was turned on. Sam's face appeared and locked eyes with the camera.  
"Emma," he said again. "Are you alright?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but heard my voice echo before any sound had actually escaped.

"I think I'm okay," it said. _What?_ I wiggled my body to break free of the imprisoned feeling, but I only felt more weight on my wrists and ankles. I was being shackled inside a dome, watching the world around me through my eyes, but I felt detached from my skin and muscle. I wasn't alone in my own body.  
 _I -- I'm possessed?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Only" by Nine Inch Nails


	13. 13 The Messenger

The burning in my side felt scabbed over and the hard skin made me itch. I lifted the hem of my shirt, the shackles clinking with the movement. My tattoo was a section of boiled skin that oozed and seeped. My home had been broken into and I was stuck cowering inside it, chained against my will, and forced to watch some monster prance around in my skin.

"I think I'm alright," she said again. She scanned her immediate surroundings and I caught a glimpse of a body next to her with the demon blade sticking out of it. Dean removed it from the corpse and wiped it on his shirt.

"Where did this come from?" he asked. Intense eyes glowered at her and I could swear they would pierce through to see me.

"I'm not sure," she said. Dean looked over at the body and patted it down.

"Is my blade there, too?" she asked. _Yes, please pick it up._

"Doesn't look like it," he replied. 

"Come on," Sam said, wrapping his arms underneath hers. I had no control over my own movements, but I could feel the ground underneath me vibrate with every step she took of me.  
Dean and Sam hadn't found anything else inside the building and as we exited, they left a trail of salt and fuel. Sam had placed my body in the vehicle and she sat in the backseat watching the building burn to the ground. I could feel her smile at me and I writhed inside myself.

 

Pulling at the chains did nothing productive but exhaust me. Her voice echoed in my head and I could feel her joy and malice wrap around me, unwelcome company in my solitude.

 _'Why me?'_ I asked her. She closed the door of the motel bathroom and locked it behind her. She stood at the dirty mirror above the sink and I saw her, really saw her. Her skin looked melted away and the opening in her nasal passage was exposed. Her eyes were blackened and peering into me. Her smile was just as black and menacing.

'You are very important to us.' Her voice slithered in the open room around me and it dried the air.

 _'Important how?'_ I snapped. Her fingers ran through my hair and down the nape of my neck.

'I'm almost happy you couldn't do it yourself,' she said. I hadn't caught on to her meaning.  
'The tall one is cute, but he's like a puppy. Dean, on the other hand -- Mmm. He is just -- pie.'  
The room around me warmed and her hands traveled along my skin. She removed my clothing with the exception of my underwear and shirt. 

_'What are you getting at?'_

'I can't believe Abbadon would think someone as absent as you could be our mother,' she huffed.

_'Mother?!'_

'Time to meet daddy.' She did one final check before emerging from the bathroom. The table at the corner of my room sat unoccupied with the laptop open. Sam usually did the food runs, while Dean lounged in front of the television or cleaned the gear.

He was, to no surprise, sitting up on the bed of his conjoined room, remote in hand, flipping through stations on the ancient television sitting on the dresser across from him. 

"Sam went to get some grub. I told him to get you a burger. Hope you don't --" He had finally turned to look at me and it stopped him in his tracks.  
"-- mind," he finished.

She walked closer to him and I could see the visions of our encounter flash before me. An undead world and a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. She had complete access to my experiences. She placed my hand on his cheek, but he didn't seem to react.

"You know, as well as I, what happened when we were on our own," she reasoned. "You can't lie to me."  
She leaned in and kissed him softly, deeply.

"Emma --" he struggled. "I don't uh -- think that's a good idea." 

She moved my hand to his waist and up his side, before circling it up to his chest. Her breathing was steady, but his became ragged and he swallowed hard. She looked up at his lips, moving her hand up his neck to rest on the underlining of his jaw. She ran her thumb along the bottom of his lips and I felt my own fingers tingle from the touch. 

I heard the sigh release and he gave in, pressing my body down on his. It was just as I had dreamt before, during our shared experience in the apocalypse. Their tongues twisted and slid against each other in a rage. His hands slid along her outer thighs before cupping them. She sat on top of him, pressing into him. She was animalistic and he fed into it.  
He slowed their kiss and she grazed her teeth along his bottom lip, coaxing him to stay. He observed the situation he had put them in and I saw regret on his face. I wasn't the only one to notice it.

"What's wrong?" she said softly. _'Stop this Dean,'_ I tried yelling to him, but nothing broke from my body. He moved my body off of his and sat up, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes hard.  
I hadn't felt anything for Dean but hate to start and admiration after our trek in the underworld together. This was not what I wanted, even when I had dreamt of it happening in a world where him and I were the only two left.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have--"

"No, no," she said sitting up next to him and patting his back. "I want to."

"Listen Em --"

"Don't be such a baby," she spat. I felt the force in her build and Dean swung back on the bed, but I hadn't felt any direct contact with him. She crawled on top of him, but he didn't resist.

"All you humans and your second-guessing -- it's pathetic." She leaned in close to his face, releasing the black slits she had hidden away.  
"Just do what feels good," she whispered before licking along his jawline.

I watched everything in him register the truth of what I had been taken by and I could feel the anger in him build underneath me.

"What do you want, you bitch?" he said, struggling to move himself. "Emma?!"

"She's in here, locked away -- enjoying the show." I yanked and pulled at my shackles, pushing the force out of me. I needed to break away from this and take over. I needed this bitch out of me.

"Hey Dean, they didn't have any pie -- whoa, sorry!" Sam had come through the door, holding the bags of food, but dropped them at the sight of us. 

"Sam, it's not Em--" he tried yelling. The air around me surged again and Dean's mouth was forced shut. Sam rushed forward at her, but she pushed him back, pinning his body to the adjacent wall.

"Lookie here," she teased. "This is getting to be a bit of a crowded room, but I can be kinky." She stood up and began to make her way toward Sam. She talked coolly, confident in her takeover, but I shut her out and she became muffled.  
I became aware of myself and the position I was in. I began to recognize my surroundings and the body that encompassed me. It was dark and broken and it smelled like her sewage, but it was mine and only I had the right to control it.

She stopped in her tracks with a small gasp and I fought my way to growth. I pushed myself up and out until I felt the motel around me. My own lungs filled with air and my own eyes blinked to focus. 

"Dean, don't," Sam shouted. Dean stood in front of me, the demon knife aimed for the source of my being. They had broken free of their captivity and armed themselves in the midst of my internal battle.

"Dean," I forced out through gritted teeth. She fought against me and I felt it begin it mash my insides. "Do it."  
 _'No!'_ she screamed from within me and I could feel her fight against me, to expel herself and escape.

"Emma," Sam spoke softly. "We can get you out of this."  
I could feel her hold on me strengthen and I shrunk a little inside myself. I couldn't let her back out. I couldn't let her take me again. 

It felt as though I had stepped outside myself and into a frozen world. Sam stood with his arm stretched out at me, his eyes beaming into me and Dean stood with the knife still pointed, his mind pulling him in different directions. I looked at myself, standing at the center of it all, but it wasn't me connected to the skin. I could see the creature for what it was -- boiled skin and darkened ash. It wore me like cheap hand-me-downs. I stepped behind it and pushed and even as my body lunged forward, I was pulled back into myself.  
The blade slid into me and loud screams pulsed within me and rang at my ears. Lightning crashed inside me and I was blinded by it as every organ pulsed and vibrated. I felt locked inside my head again, but this time, I was alone.

 

***************  
 _The smell of fresh grass and lavender swept through the air and the breeze swam through my pores. My uniform had been pressed just this morning and I knew I would be scolded for the grass stains that formed on the back of them, but this was too good to pass up. Her fingers tightened around my hand. Kate brought me back from the depths of my past just when I thought I would drown in it. She always smelled like lavender -- it was something I had associated with my calm, even the color tended to soothe me._

_I sat up and propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at her face. Her skin was glowing and healthy and her blue eyes beamed at me. Then she smiled, curling the corners of her lips and accentuating the lines that curved around her mouth. Everything in me melted away and I could only think about staying in this moment forever. I brought my lips to her and the cushions rested upon each other. She tasted like mint and strawberry and I felt surges of affection coarse through me. I would do it today, right now -- in this moment -- I would ask her to be with me. I was ready to build my life with her._

_I broke away slowly, lifting my head to gaze at her. Her skin had grown cold and withered and blood leaked from her eyes, her nose, and the corners of her mouth. The blue I had seen piercing me earlier were darkened and dead._

_"Kate?" I shook her, but her muscles never moved in my hands. The black in her pupils began to pool, drowning out the only color she had left. The horror of it shot me back and I moved away from her. Her entire uniform had been drenched in blood. My boots kicked up at the dirt and I lost my grip as I knocked into a mass behind me. I turned to find the body of my bunkmate laid out just as Kate had been and when I stood, 2 others manifested. Hendrickson -- O'Riley -- Davidson -- all withered and pale and absent, just like her._  
Their stitched tags magnified in my sight and I was overwhelmed by guilt. I no longer wore my uniform, but the sheets of the life I had taken on after Galus Field.  
"Why?" a small voice called from behind me. When I turned to catch a glimpse of her, my knees buckled beneath me and I sunk into the floor below me. Her black hair flattened along her head and swept down the front of her blouse. Her eyes were sunken in and her lips were pale, but her eyes never blackened. 

_"Why did you abandon us?" she asked._

_"Lily --" I breathed. Growing up, we had always been told we had our mothers button nose, but Lily had our fathers honey-colored eyes. She carried our lives like burdens, but she was never able to escape it -- not the way I did._

_I asked her to be patient. I told her I'd come back for her -- to take her away from all the things she didn't deserve to endure -- all the shit that our parents buried her under._

_"You left me!" she screamed._

_"Lily --"_

_"You left me! You left me! You left ME! You LEFT ME! YOU LEFT M--"_

_Her screams echoed in the air until she was cut off and hoisted into the air. The rope tightened around her neck and her feet kicked underneath her._

_"Lily!" I launched off the ground toward her, but a weight formed in my belly and brought me back to the ground. It writhed inside me, clawing at my insides, begging to be released. I tried to scream, but nothing escaped my lungs._

_'Emma --' Dean's voice called. I couldn't find the source as everything around me turned off and blackened. It was as if the only bulb in a small room struggled to stay lit and the flickers of it only allowed me to glimpse the area. Bodies appeared a few at a time against the wall in my small cell, HUNTER carved deep into their skin. The being inside me continued its dig to freedom and the pain became overwhelming. I laid my head back and it rested on boney stems. Looking up, Kate's smile beamed down at me and disappeared into the blackness as my small bulb flickered. She lightly dragged her fingers across the lining of my hair and as the illumination resurfaced, Lily's honey eyes pierced me, but with happiness. Her face was full and healthy and she looked so alive, until like Kate, the darkness took her from me._

_I prepared to close my eyes, to give in to the inevitable forever that beckoned me, but the ceiling above me set ablaze and the heat warmed my skin._

_'Emma --' Sam called from above me. It was his lap my head sat in now and his hand that stroked the hairs on my head. He looked saddened and worn just as he had when I first met him. His eyes overflowed with a silent understanding that I could not place and despite the war raging inside me, I felt calm and almost numb._  
"CLEAR!"  
The shout echoed around me and pierced my eardrums, pulling me from the temporary relief. The fire raged and turned to white light, blinding me and devouring the accompanying figures. The sun lit fresh green grass and clear blue skies, before my encompassing dome pulsed and disappeared again. My friends -- Kate -- Lily -- Dean -- Sam -- had all disappeared along with it and I was left in the black emptiness -- alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "The Messenger" by Linkin Park


	14. 14 Love Me Again

For decades, there have been wars over the theories of events in the afterlife, if there was an afterlife, and who among our species would be allowed to revel in it for eternity. I never put much thought into it and I had hoped for a society that did the same. Killing for ones beliefs will never be the same as fighting for them and fighting for them never calls for violence. Fighting for such things was also never meant to be a duel, but an internal strife scratching away at the individual. It was a set of guidelines to uphold in oneself, to bring purpose to the being that one can be, the life one leads, and the character one displays to others. I always wondered if this is what was intended when commandments and religious ruling were written and if it were, how ashamed their creators would be.

It's a theory I've held as to why God "left." The angels always moaned about being abandoned and left to squalor, even after they were told to love our species as He did. For a very long time, I did not believe in Angels, Demons, Heaven, Hell, God, Lucifer, Divinity -- They are all equally evil and that is something I do believe in -- Evil. I've faced it since my birth -- it tried to raise me in its sullied home and it even gave a name to me and my sister. Running from it was an infantile idea.

I've faced it, looked into its black eyes, smelled its rancid odor and have found no peace in knowing its existence. My solution was to remove it and I have held that duty close to me for warmth and love. Along the way I have found so much of it is misunderstood or misrepresented.

Sometimes evil is simply evil -- it knows it is evil, its intentions are purely evil, and its complete reason for existence is evil.  
Then there is evil that believes it is good, it lives in its reasoning and fights for it -- holding strong to its purpose and projecting it to others.  
Then there is good, draped in evil -- good that hides beneath its image for protection -- for isolation -- for fear of being sought out and destroyed.  
Lastly, there is good that is so desperate to be seen and heard and felt, that its intentions go awry and one can become lost in it.

These forms find themselves manifesting in the innocent and you may believe that it cannot exist in all of us, but you would be naive. In each of our gardens, a snake roams or a weed grows. To maintain the beauty and growth means to eliminate the pests, but it never means forever. I don't believe in forever -- the same way I still do not believe in Angels or Demons, Heaven or Hell, God or Lucifer -- what do they matter anyhow to my limited existence.  
I have met them all already and I am not impressed.

 

*****************************************************************  
They say drowning is a painful experience despite the grace that the water seems to give your bones. Taking that first gulp of air as you regain consciousness on land can be just as painful, but the prospect of being alive makes that pain all worthwhile.  
It also depends on the life you lead.

When I took my first gulp, I didn't know where I was, who I was with, or why I even took the gulp to begin with. I just knew I needed a weapon in my hand and a throat to threaten.

"Emma," his deep voice spoke low to me. The others surrounding us had moved in ready to take me out, but I didn't find it important enough to register. I looked back at bright blue eyes squinting at me. 

"Cas --" I breathed raggedly, moving the angel blade away from his stubbled neck.

"You're alright."

"Where --"

"You're safe."

"Am I?" I asked, observing the room again. I looked down in my hand to find the grip of the angel blade imprinted in my palm and the color returning to my knuckles. Castiel placed his hand on mine, still gripping the collar of his coat and it pierced everything in me. His face was still calm, but aware. I loosened my grasp on his collar and let go. He looked down at the blade in my hand and I tightened my grip on it again. He showed no aggression and no resistance to my keeping it. The others surrounding him registered his signaling nod and put their own blades away.

"Leave," he demanded of the others. Without hesitation, each one turned and exited. My breathing felt easier and I gave myself a moment to send out neurons to check on my anatomy. Everything seemed to be intact and functioning, but it was more than that. I felt -- reborn and untainted. I sat up, moving slowly in the small couch I had been laid in, to ensure I felt no pain or discomfort. He never interrupted my internal check-up, but just stared as I did so.

"I assure you, you have been fully healed," he said.

"I gathered as much. What happened?"

"You died." Angels were not beings for remorse or comfort, they simply spoke in facts and gave their audience no buffer.

"Lovely. And?"

"We healed you and warded you," he said.

"Warded me?"

"Angel warding sigils engraved into your bones. No angel can see you unless you call for us."

"Cas -- Where am I?"

"It's safe," he annunciated.

"I don't consider the secrecy safe or being surrounded by a bunch of modern day Dodo birds! Tell me what is happening."

"You were possessed and you were stabbed by the demon knife. Sam and Dean took you to the hospital, but you died. We had to let you die in order to bring you back."

"You couldn't just heal me?"  
He shook his head at me.

"Possession can damage the body and the soul, especially when the demon dies within you. We needed to take the opportunity to fully heal you."

I stood up and stretched the muscles in my limbs. It had felt like I had slept for years and I was awoken by shaking. I rubbed my eyes hard.

"Why didn't you bring me to the bunker?" I asked. I didn't want to be there, not after what had happened, but it still stood out as a strange choice. Castiel still stared at my now empty seat and didn't speak.

"They don't know I'm alive, do they?" I stared into him until he looked at me, but he only shook his head still focused on the furniture. I approached him and offered the angel blade back to him as I knelt before him. He took it in his hand and his expression was drenched in a kind of sadness. I had only ever seen a straight-faced angel before, even one drowning in anger. 

"They can't know you're alive," he said finally.

"Okay," I said after a moment of thought. "I'll agree to it, but you need to tell me everything you know."

"I can show you," he said. Two other angels walked into the room as Castiel stood. I half expected some magical incantation to be spoken and fires to roar as lightbulbs bursted from an intense surge of energy. Instead, one of the angels sat down at the desk centered in the room and turned the computer on. He tapped on a few keys before settling on something and turning the flattened computer screen to face me. He pulled up article after article, all equipped with photo and video evidence of a world that was caving in on itself.

Fires had erupted in Australia -- flooding in England -- volcanic eruption in Indonesia -- sweltering heat in South America and South Africa -- record cold temperatures in 95% of the United States --

"Ragnarok?" I asked aloud.

"Yes. Another 'end times,'" Castiel confirmed. 

"What do I have to do with this?" I asked peering into him.  
He took a moment to clear his throat and he stood. He seemed to have an issue with looking at me because as he stood, his eyes struggled to meet mine.

"You are Lif," he said. "You are the rebirth of the new world, or at least Abbadon has chosen you to be."  
The words did not register to me for a moment, but I had read so much lore on the events of Ragnarok, including the events after it was over.

"Lif? The survivor? The one-half to repopulating the 'new world'? That Lif?"  
He nodded and my insides turned over.

"And Lífþrasir is -- oh no --" It had hit me as I recalled the past months living in the bunker and hunting with the Winchesters. When the demon possessed me, she did not reveal anything coherent in her thoughts, but her actions were now loud and clear.

"Seriously?" I said loudly. "Dean Winchester?"

"Yes," he responded simply. "I believe Abbadon wants to create a world in her image -- the ultimate demonic army."

"A hunter-demon hybrid," I concluded. "Are we that far gone?" 

"It surprised me too. I was sure Sam was the Lífþrasir," he said blatantly.  
I dropped into the chair behind me and placed my elbows on the table in front of me with a loud thud, letting my head melt into my hands. I understood now why I was possessed and why the demon did what she tried to. I refused to do it of my own accord. I knew Dean was damaged -- I knew both of them were -- and I knew they both were unlike any other hunter or being I had ever met.

"Cas, I'm not sure Dean and I have that type of relationship. I doubt there's much of a chance to --"

"It's not a risk we can take," he responded. 

"Why keep me alive then?" I argued loudly. "If I'm at the center of this, why risk making me accessible."

"Emma," Castiel said softly. "Even in death, you are vulnerable. Heaven may be closed, but Hell is still very much open."

He hadn't said it out right, but I knew what it meant. Heaven wasn't an option for me and maybe it hadn't been for a very long time. I had failed time and time again and I did things that were unforgivable. As much as I comforted myself in believing it was for something bigger, it didn't take any weight from my shoulders and it didn't earn me any brownie points.

"We have to take out Abbadon and the werewolves. We have to stop this from happening," I finally said.

"I have more pressing matters to attend to. If we keep you here, there will be no Lif and Lífþrasir --"

"That does not prevent others from dying, Cas. We need to stop this before it gets worse. If you won't help, then let me out so I can work."

"It is too dangerous --"

"Everything is dangerous. It's why I have a job in the first place," I argued. "Look Cas, we can't do this without you and I know human abilities can't compare to an angels, but we can help you, too."

"You think too highly of us."

"No, I really don't, but you are unlike any other angel I've met. You have an advantage, a following --"

"One I did not request."

"You seemed to have earned them. The same way you earned your way into being a Winchester. No one is grasping that we cannot do this alone. Any of it. Let's fix what's happening here first, then we can --"

Something in me burst and I felt my organs burn up inside me. My knees hit the floor, but didn't keep up much longer before I gave in to the sensation and fell over, gripping my abdomen. Castiel had run over to me and knelt beside me. He placed his fingers on my temple and closed his eyes. I felt nothing.

"I thought you said you healed me," I struggled.

"There's something inside you. I thought it would have died when you did --" He stopped and looked off into nothing. 

"Sam?" he whispered to himself. "I have to go."

"What? Sam?"

I barely blinked before Castiel left me on the floor, with the company of two angels I didn't know. More trailed in after he disappeared into a hallway and I tensed. _I will not die by the hand of an angel,_ I thought before everything around me blackened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Love Me Again" by John Newman


	15. 15 Another One Bites the Dust

Angels were always portrayed as gentle beings tasked to watch over us. Messengers for when God could not make the time. A generation was raised to pray to them in their time of need and over the decades, prayers turned to greed and desire. Despair would often be felt to an unanswered plea. Trust would crack, beliefs would falter, and we began to lose hope that nothing was out there.

It turns out we had always been right. 

So few angels admitted to sympathy for our species. In fact, the general consensus was hate and jealousy. As I've spoken to more of Castiel's followers, I've found that they all encompass one feeling; loneliness.  
They are beings that are eternal, strong, and divine, yet they have managed to be pushed so far past their limits that they exude alienation. I can only assume they have come to this state the same way we did as a species; when we prayed, no one answered.

 

"Don't heal me," I requested of her. "Let's just go again."

I gripped the blade in my hand as did she and we stood adjacent to each other, ready to charge. The blood trickling down my arm sent a tickle around the wound and it reminded me not to make the same mistake I had before. She stepped forward, lunging her blade at me and I ducked away, effectively dodging the oncoming strike. I repositioned to strike, but she was no longer in front of me. My ears perked to listen for the whooshing around me and I felt the wind swipe across the hairs that touched my back.  
Angels had lost the ability to fly, but they were fast and effective fighters.

Ducking down, I pulled myself into a curl and rolled away from my starting spot. The blade came down hard and she dug it into the ground where I had made my stance. She nodded at me and pulled her blade from the ground.  
She was not an easy fight, but she was an honest and brutal mentor. Candy had once believed in Bartholomew and she believed in obeying orders, but since following Castiel, she had found new peace. This peace she spoke of to me once was not present here in her classroom and it was an effective teaching method. She demonstrated well how brutal such seemingly gentle creatures could be. Wrath was an emotion few species felt, but it was consensus that it only brought burden and destruction.

The clink our blades made as they hit echoed in the emptied board room. Her blade flew and rolled along the ground and I placed the tip of mine pinched lightly at her neck.

"You've improved," she said.

"Well, it's no fun not being able to hit something," I admitted.

"Unless you want your bones crushed, I would advise refraining from doing so."

"Yes, I know, Candy. The objective is to disarm."

She picked up her blade and grabbed the jacket to her pant suit. I'm not sure I had ever seen an angel wear anything different. She approached me and examined the cut on my arm.

"I'll stitch it. I feel naked with no scars on me," I said, trying to reassure her.

"As you wish, but tomorrow you fight someone new. You're getting to know my sounds too well. In battle, you will need to distinguish these among your other surroundings."

"Fun. Now feed me before I pass out."

"I keep forgetting you creatures need sustenance," she quipped. It seemed rare to see an ultimate being smile, but I caught Candy smirking every so often. I'm not sure if it's been the month we've spent together or if it really was Castiel's leadership and speeches of free will.

When we emerged from the room, two angels stood at the doorway like statues. One held a long item in front of him, wrapped in cloth. 

"I've got two small items you've earned," Candy said, turning to me after taking the item from the first angel. She unwrapped the top folds of the cloth and pulled out a pair of bright white gloves with subtle gold stitching on the seams. 

"Look inside them," she instructed. The gloves were lined with black fabric and an Enochian devils trap in gold stitching. She nodded for me to put them on and the plush inside felt like I had wrapped my hands in cloud. They were light weight and flexible. I balled my fists and relaxed them a few times, testing the fabric against my skin. Candy pulled away one last layer of cloth to reveal a shining blade underneath.

"A blade of your liking made from the reformed material of our angel blades. The handle is alum-tawed leather made from holy-water soaked salts to protect from a demons handling."

I stared at the magnificence in awe, running my hand along the smooth blade. It was light, but thick and it gripped well in hand. One of the angels standing near us handed me the accompanying sheath and strap made from the same leather used on the handle. 

"We are unsure of the future and what your part in it might be," she said. Her face was solemn and I could see the small flicker of fear and uncertainty in her gaze. "But this will be a fitting weapon for all your battles to come."

She lightly bowed to me and a small smirk curled at the corner of her mouth, the same one I had seen in our training together. I sheathed the blade and wrapped the strap around my back and shoulder. She turned to leave before stopping to look back at me.  
"Your second gift --" She looked up at the accompanying angels and nodded. "Take her to the place of her choosing. Do not tell Castiel."

"I'm beginning to think you're growing fond of me," I quipped.

For a moment, I could have sworn she winked at me, but I wasn't sure it was something angels did. Candy had grown to trust me and it seemed even found me worthy of gifts, ones that would never compare to any other gift I had ever or would ever receive. It was almost overwhelming to find that a being incomparable to the skill and ability I held had found it within herself to appreciate the bond only I thought we had.

In my heart, I knew it would greatly disappoint her to find that I duped the two angels she sent as my guards. They believed I wanted to eat at a small diner a state away from Kansas, where old folks went for their last meals. The light bursting throughout the eatery went unnoticed when I pressed my bloody hand to the sigil I had drawn on the seat next to me. Angels seemed so absent-minded to the nature of human beings, but I had been raised in a house of deceit and I had, sadly, mastered it.

The one thing my parents never displayed was remorse and thats all I thought about as the bearded tattooist pinpointed the anti-possession ward on my chest just where Sam and Dean held theirs.

On the bus ride to Lebanon, I couldn't help but imagine the reaction Castiel would have when I showed up to the bunker, if they were all still there. I wouldn't allow him to lay a hand on Candy. She had formed a soft spot in my heart and although it was now a weakness, she had earned it. She turned me into an ultimate weapon against demon and angel alike and equipped me with the greatest inanimate treasure I could ask for.

The bus stopped off in the town closest to the bunker location and I looked forward to the walk, but more so I looked forward to seeing my partner again. I was right to leave Chives behind when we hunted. I'm not dumb to the consequences this line of work holds and I know one day I will lose her, but I would never want to lose her by my own hand. I kicked the dirt up as I turned the corner on to the dirt road. It was still light out, but the day seemed clouded and muggy. Still, the cold air felt good in my lungs in comparison to being trapped in an office building surrounded by a bunch of winged virgins. 

I could even enjoy it with the twigs snapping around me from the small collection of men and women that began following me from the main part of town. Five different patters of feet were distinguishable and this time I'd bet my money on it with Dean. These variations were real and not in a dreamed up wasteland. 

I whistled to a tune in my head, calling the creatures out. I was ready to stretch my muscle and bone and I was ready to test my new blade. I kicked a bit of dirt up as I stopped and pulled my gloves out. They fit snuggly and I balled my fist to stretch the fabric again. Damn, they felt good. I pulled my hair in a tight bun and stretched my arms out on either side of myself. I didn't know where the inspiration of the song came from, but Freddie Mercury's voice shouted in my head, "Another one bites the dust, hey hey!"  
My body felt limber and my spirits were high. Maybe it was the excitement of the pending battle or maybe it was the high I had felt when Cas brought me back. It had never really wound down, but I had training to expel the energy. This time, I was too introverted and I needed a release and the funk was loud in my mind.

My knee rhythmically bent to the beat echoing in my own mind. The creatures found the moment of distraction as an opportunity and they sent two of their own at me. I kept tapping along to the music as I unsheathed the blade and swung it in my arms, passing left to right until the smaller woman was closest to me. I pierced her chest with the blade and the orange lightning flashed within her. I kicked at the remaining man charging me and he fell over. I pulled the blade from her and brought it down on him. 

The funk only seemed to get louder and I mouthed the lyrics to myself. The three remaining charged me and two reached me before I could properly swing my new weapon. The other woman in the group was much taller than the other and she pulled my arms back behind me as one demon swung at my gut. 

The third seemed more interested in the blade and he picked it up, ready to swing it. These creatures didn't want to kill me, I was too valuable, but they were not against severely injuring me. As the weapon-wielding demon brought the blade to my neck, his hand began to sizzle. Steam rose from his palm and he attempted to release the blade from his grasp, but it remained attached to his fist.

He screamed as his skin burnt and melted under his grip. The music continued to pace in my mind and I bobbed my head to it. Queen was always a weakness of mine, but I challenge anyone to listen to their music and not feel it course through your body.

The demon throwing punches my way had stopped to look at his counterpart suffer and I kicked at his kneecap. His leg bent back and he buckled beneath the sudden loss of balance and immense pain I had just injected into him. The woman holding me had loosened her grip in the same confusion. I repositioned her and lifted her weight over me, sending her pummeling to the ground and landing on her back.  
I took my gloves off and placed one on each demon. They struggled to release from their meat-suits as their mouths opened. It was prison enough to hold them in. Moving over to the burning demon, I could feel my hips subtly move to the beat still pounding in my head. I grasped his steaming hand tight and pulled it up to position the blade above him. He struggled against my pressure and I pushed my body weight down, slowly seeping the blade into his form. He lit inside before it diminished and his grip loosened around the handle. The skin and muscle had melted to the leather and I knew I would have to have it reset. It was probably not a gift I would be given anytime soon, especially from the maddened angels that searched for me.

I pushed the blade into the remaining male demon and pulled it back out in one swift movement. 

"Another one bites the dust," I whispered to the female before shoving the blade into her chest, removing the last bit of orange lightning from my surroundings. The goo from the melted skin and bone squished in my hand and I wiped it on my pants. I tried to wipe the blade off, too, but it proved difficult. When I finally looked up, the black Impala was parked a small distance away and from either door, the Winchesters stood, staring at me in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen


	16. 16 Hurricane

"Enjoy the show?"

The Winchester brothers continued to stand in befuddlement, their guns pointed at my head, and I had the urge to photograph it. I'm not sure it happened often, but it was definitely something of a kodak moment. _'Confused Winchesters -- Guns at the ready.'_ I'm not sure there was an existing thought scarier than that.

"You're alive --" Dean said.

"Well, you are a strong detective, Mr. Winchester," I said walking at him slowly. I rested my head against the barrel of Dean's gun and winked. "Keep up the excellent work."

"But --" Sam chimed. "Cas said you died at the hospital and were cremated, so what are you?"

"Angels have a tendency to lie, you know. It's a weird thing they do." They both still stared me down, unsure of themselves.

 

"I'd take a bullet to prove it to you if the Colt had spares," I suggested.

"We can make that happen," Dean said smoothly. He wasn't happy with me, but I don't blame him. From his perspective, I duped him and that was a hit to the ego. He continued to stare me down in the tensed silence and I met his eyes with equal fight. I pressed further into the barrel and held my stance. My body screamed for him to do it and when I stood there a moment too long, he broke away. He had read me clearly and it seemed to almost frighten him. He took out a small flask and prepared to toss water in my face.

"Don't --" I stopped him. "Don't be a child." I grabbed the silver flask from him and the cross engraving on the front swept across my hand. I chuckled a bit before drinking the small amount down to empty it. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until this moment. I pressed the flask against his chest and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"If you're going to salt me, at least let me do it with tequila and lime," I pressed. He didn't stop there. He slipped the demon knife from his pocket and held the blade out.

"I haven't missed that thing,"I said, almost to myself. I offered him my hand and he sliced at it, the sting of it setting in slowly. No lightning flashed and no holy water severed my skin.  
He finally nodded at me, accepting my test result as 'Not-a-Demon.'

"How are you here?" Sam finally asked, his pistol shoved away in the back lining of his jeans.

"Like I said -- Angels lie." I moved to the trunk of the Impala and lifted the warded lid to find a display of weapons and small pile of varying herbs and pieces of bone. I picked up the always-stocked salt and fuel. 

"Cas brought you back?" Dean sounded offended that he had been lied to by his counterpart as if it didn't happen often, but I only ever knew angels to be liars. Castiel was some sort of alien exception to this stereotype because his intentions seemed to be for good. Why he thought keeping me alive was a good idea, I'll never completely understand, but it didn't take from the validity of his earlier argument. Dead or not, no one was safe from monsters.

"He did," I shouted back from the pile of bodies I left. The smell of salted fuel was like home. There was nothing like it, but it always meant death.

"Did he give you super powers?"  
For a moment, my emotions slipped through and displayed openly on my face. It made me pause and look at Sam before moving back to Dean. Neither seemed to smile at the joke or even hint that it was not a serious question.

"No, Dean. Why would he give me superpowers?" I said slowly. I lit the small stack of motel matches and tossed it on the pile.

"You just took out five demons on your own," Sam pointed out.

"And with a super blade, too?" Dean chimed.

"Yes and I am very gross, so can you take me to the bunker so I can wash 'Larry Go-lightly's goo off of me?"  
I opened the backseat door and moved into the vehicle, careful not to spread the skin and blood to the leather. Despite my unnoticed efforts, Dean still gave me a speech about his 'baby' and the smell I seemed to bring with me in it. 

 

Showering felt like being reborn all over again, with much less pain and confusion. The water was white noise to the remaining voices in my head left over since I was possessed and died. Small fragments of images flashed at me every so often and they were in no particular order or reasoning. I could only assume it was part of something Cas couldn't clean out. That thing he couldn't reach pin-balling its way around my organs and Dean's. I had questions for him as much as I assumed they had questions for me, but exhaustion was setting in and all I wanted was to see my partner. 

I lazily dried my hair and tossed the towel aside after dressing in the clothes I had left here. They hadn't been tossed luckily and even felt a bit looser. I came out of my room and walked to the main area, the same stupid mapped table set in the center. I whistled loudly for Chives and the noise made Sam look up from the table in the adjoining open room. 

"I hope you've been feeding her," I said. Dean emerged from the kitchen area as if to identify the source of the noise and his face fell when he saw me. His younger brother followed suit.

"You've got to be joking. I wasn't even gone that long," I shouted at them.

"Emma, we thought you were dead --" Sam started.

"So you kicked her out?"

"Hey! We didn't kick her out," Dean argued.

"Come on! You wanted her gone the minute we stepped into this place, which was your idea, by the way."

"We didn't kick her out," Sam said calmly. "All she did was mope around when we didn't come home with you, so we took her out on a job. She proved useful, so we took her on a few more."

Dean calmed, but I still felt the betrayal in my veins. Hot-headedness was not a strong suit of mine, but when it came to my partner, a few screws tended to come loose.

"The last job we did--" Dean said, matching Sam's calm tone. "She took off, Em."

"Where?" 

"We've looked everywhe--"

"Where?!"

"Nebraska. Near Kearney," Sam answered.

"Take me. Now."

 

The only thing keeping me from being sought out by angels was Castiel's idea to ward my bones with sigils, which was an idea that now did not work out in his favor. Through the drive, Sam attempted to keep up conversation, but I was in no mood to speak with either of them. Dean took the hint and kept his music playing at a moderate volume.  
I watched the passing cities and plots of land along the highway, scraping the dried gunk that stuck in the leather of my blade. I flicked the chunks from my finger nail and out of the window. The angels would not be happy that I had ruined my gift so quickly, but it did exactly what it was meant to. I know the weapon kept the guys curious, but I wouldn't fill them in until I had my partner back.

We were a couple miles out from the city when a migraine formed in my head and more fragments of images blinded me. The pang of the migraine increased rapidly and I became dizzy. The images I held in my head began to mirror my surroundings and my ears rung loudly.

"Stop," I said.

"We're almost there," Dean argued.

"Stop!" I yelled. Dean turned off the side of the road and hit his steering wheel after parking. 

"Is this going to become a habit?" he said, turning to look at me. I emerged from the vehicle and looked around to find something that would seem familiar. My head felt like a compass struggling to find north, but it finally clicked and I stared east of us, past the freeway and over the barriers of the bridge we sat on. 

Making my way across the busy highway, the honking from the oncoming vehicles seemed muffled and unimportant, as did Dean and Sam's yelling after me. I kept moving forward to the end of the bridge and jumped the guarder rail. I landed in a patch of grass before sliding down the graveled underlying. A few homeless men sat beneath it staring at me and the giant that decided to follow me. They slightly waved and I continued to move on, along the dirty water lining. I pulled my blade to chop away the obstacles in front of me.

"Emma, where are you going?" Sam asked, following behind me.

I continued to move, ignoring his queries. He was a curious guy and full of questions, but I just didn't have the frame of mind to answer them. We continued for another mile or so before coming to a large opening, where a warehouse sat dead center. The field was edged with tall trees and the grass was browned and dead. The air felt dry and sulfur filled it. As we approached the building, the Impala came driving up a small undefined dirt road. Not many seemed to travel back here, but the Winchesters had come across it before.

"How did you know this was back here?" Sam asked.

"I felt it," I said, stopping to gather the angles of the building. We continued toward Dean, who had gotten out of the Impala and rifled through his trunk. He handed Sam a shotgun and took one for himself. 

"Emma, what do you mean you felt it?" Sam asked. Dean and I looked at each other.

"It was just an image at first, but it felt like a pit in my stomach. I imagine your brother felt it, too."

Dean didn't speak and looked away as Sam observed his expression. He didn't appreciate being kept out of the loop.

"I didn't get an image," Dean said.

"Something the demon left behind, I guess," I said, still finding it unbearable to look back at him after what I had done. 

"I thought Cas healed you," Sam said.

"There are things even he can't reach."  
I moved toward the building quickly, but with caution. Whatever wanted us here did not want to make a scene outside. It wanted us lured inside and I followed the trap. The building smelled of rot, a smell that was becoming all too familiar. _Why is it always a warehouse?_ I thought to myself. It seemed so obvious, but they were easily abandoned with most holding hard history within their walls.

It was relatively quiet, until we reached the second floor. Something churned in my gut and I know Dean felt it too as we slowed. Sam kept himself alert to cover for our lack of energy in the moment, but nothing seemed to strike us. Not even a trap caught us in our steps.

"We've been waiting for some time," the voice echoed. Its voice was just as silky as it had been in the diner. "That's very rude, you know."

"We'll be sure to work on our manners," Dean quipped.

"You, I'm not allowed to eliminate despite your unfortunate tone," his lips curled in disgust, but slowly moved to smirk at Sam. "But _you_ have no purpose for me."  
Sam was lifted up and flew back, landing on his back and sliding across the ground behind us.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, running over to him. 

I planted my feet to the ground and kept my gaze on the demon. Slowly, more demons made their presence known at his side and behind him. 

"Apollyon," I said, enunciating the syllables. He smiled proudly at me.  
"What exactly do you want with us?" I asked.

"My dear Emma --" he said softly. "We want to change the world."

"You mean Ragnarok."

"If that's what you choose to call it. Those stupid wolf mongrels got one thing right. We just decided to make it more interesting."

"Haven't we done this dance already?" I asked. Sam and Dean had made their way next to me, Sam still catching his breath from the push. "Your little minion tried and failed. Miserably, I might add."

"Yes, well, she was not a part of the plan, but alas there are some elements that cannot be controlled. Beautiful job eliminating her, by the way. I've heard word through the rotting grapevine that you overcame the possession and Dean here drove the knife in. What a lovely tale to tell your children," he snarked.

"Yes, what a strong start to this relationship. We won't need any therapy in the years to come," I said.

"Eons, my dear." The words slid from his mouth like fine red wine. "You will have eternal life -- together."

Every time I bumped into a demon, I gained one more disturbing piece of information. This was always the part of the job I hated. Nothing could ever come in a neatly packaged box with a small note that said "Full Plans for Destruction."

"Why us?" I finally asked. 

"You are the perfect choices to begin our new world. Our dearest Dean is so far gone and it is just enchanting that he so willingly and easily accepted the Mark of Cain. You, Emma, are the Queen piece -- Our Mother -- Our savior. You carry in you the power to build an army, as does your companion," he gestured to Dean, who stood by me, his face hard and his eyes set on the demon before us.

"It ain't happening," Dean said.

"Oh dear boy, it will," he said softly. He moved his hand slightly through the air and Sam, once again, levitated and was pulled back to the wall near us. His back slammed against it and he gasped for breath above us. His body tensed and with a small wave of the demons hand, Sam fell to the ground below him with a crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Hurricane" by 30 Seconds to Mars


	17. 17 Bully

"Stop!" Dean yelled, attempting to run to his brothers aid. He was held in place before being brought down to his hands and knees.

"Shutup, _Mutt_ ," the demon spat. Dean struggled against the hold, glancing back at Sam every so often to check his status.

"What do we need to do?" Dean asked. The demon smiled at me.

"You must join us," he offered.

"No," I said. Dean looked up at me and his eyes welled with begging. I kept a heavy expression and looked back to the demon.

"Find someone else," I said with finality.

"Emma, my dear --" the demon cooed. He placed his hand in the air and rested it on nothing. "There are things we can give you."

Underneath his hand, a figure appeared of a young woman, looking full and young and very much alive.

"Lily --" I breathed. She smiled at me and the corners of her eyes wrinkled. She looked beautiful and the color filled her face. An involuntary tear slid down my cheek and he had broken through the walls I had so desperately built.

"Isn't this what you want?" The words slid from his mouth and the world around me seemed to disappear as I took a step forward. A hand grabbed at my ankle, weakly clutching at it. Dean below me, still sat on his hands and knees, looking at me, then back at Sam. I glanced over at Sam to see him squirm a bit in his unconsciousness. 

"Don't believe him," he whispered through gritted teeth.  
I looked back over at the demon, who suddenly seemed displeased. His hand lifted from her shoulder and the color in her face drained, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes. She began to gasp for air, before being hoisted into the air, by a forming rope that didn't seem connected to anything. Instinctively, I stepped forward, but Dean's slipping fingers snapped me back.

The scene seemed familiar and I could hear her voice echo in my head: 'YOU LEFT ME!'  
Bile rose in my throat and my muscles began to vibrate. My body had overloaded on panic and the distinction between reality and the fantasy that was being offered to me warped. The demon placed his hand back on the air and she appeared underneath it, looking full and healthy again. She smiled at me as she had a moment ago.

"I hear that angels believe when one takes their own life, it is a great sin," he said. "In hell, the sin you lived in life, you live in death, over and over. Mr. Winchester could tell you, in detail, of his accounts."  
I looked back down at Dean as he found the energy to stand and I saw it. I saw him change from the concerned older brother to the killer he had been twisted into. The flicker in his eyes was no longer relevant to who he was and the energy he held for patience and remorse vanished. He barely looked back at Sam as he connected with the demon. Dean had seen a part of hell that no one living could begin to understand. This is what aged him most, not the prospect of enduring hell, but of the concept that there was no escaping all he'd seen and done there. He found peace to be a fairytale.

"You can save her Emma," he said. "You can be with her for eternity and you can save her from her constant torture." Apollyon removed his hand from her shoulder and she, once again, was drained of all life and hoisted in the air as the rope wrapped around her neck.

"Join us and let her find peace in a world grown so cold to those desperate for release. Let her live at your side, unscathed from the life she lead before. You can make up for leaving her behind," he said, placing his hand back in the air, her underneath it, happy.

My mind was in a frenzy of the options I held in my hand. They wanted me badly enough to offer her well-being. I could keep her safe, even if it meant eternity in the pit. These were the only connections I held with the world now. Our species had tainted the atmosphere and parents like mine tainted their offspring and sent them out into the world to spread the disease. We were overpopulated, devouring the land, and disgusting creatures --

\-- so were the things I hunted and these things I hunted were lined up in front of me and offering me a deal I would be stupid to refuse. I gripped the shotgun on my back and looked at Lily's full and now disappointed face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered desperately to her. I slipped the gun from my back and cocked it. I aimed at the king creature staring at me intently and fired. As the rock salt warped through the air, Apollyon's eyes pooled dark red and his face twisted in disappointment. Lily opened her mouth to yell as she and the creature controlling her disappeared.  
The stray shots spread to the neighboring demons, sizzling into their skin. Dean had readied his gun and worked his side of the room, moving forward in formation with me. I dropped the emptied gun and pulled my blade from the sheath on my back. I swiped and swung in the air, piercing anything within my line of sight and around me orange lightning flashed. Hissing filled the air and blackened eyes set their sights on us. What started as a quiet negotiation became a flurry of blood and blinding rage. A large gust of wind blew around us and consecutive flashes of orange light glowed around us. Castiel had his hands pressed against the foreheads of neighboring demons that had tried to exit the building. They dropped to the floor as Dean and I both slid our blades out from the demons we had taken out. It seemed a Winchester did a bit of praying earlier.

Castiel's blue eyes were raging with anger and directed at me. Dean stood in the center of the pile of bodies, painted in blood as I'm sure I was. There in his eyes, that fire was raging and burning blue. This was the warrior that kept him alive on every hunt, standing strong and drenched in red. That Mark was only a physical reminder of what he was and what he would become, but despite the power it held, this life is what made Dean into a warrior; a survivor. It's what tainted all of our souls, rotted our hearts, and thickened our skin. The anger in Cas only told me, he had experienced this too.

A small whimper from the corner of the room had broken me away from him and behind me, one remaining demon cowered, black smoke billowing from his mouth. Dean had stepped forward to take him out, but I placed my hand on his chest to prevent him from moving any further. I spoke the exorcism incantation backwards and the smoke was sucked back into its body. I moved my way to the creature and stepped over him, bending low to face him and grabbing his chin.

"Show me," I demanded. He whimpered a bit more before his eyes blackened. 

"Give your boss a message for me." I placed my hands around his head and twisted it rapidly. With a crack, the meat-suit went limp and black smoke raced from the depths of its gut. I stepped back, allowing it all to expel and race off into the day. My surroundings were quiet and still and I could feel Dean and Castiel's stares at my back, but when I looked to my left to find Sam, he too, stared at me. His eyes were bearing into me and his face showed disappointment and what seemed to be sorrow, but the pain of his predicament set in and he sharply inhaled.

"Sam," Dean said, running to his brothers side. Castiel did not follow, but instead stepped toward me, his eyebrows in a straight line across his face.

"You deceived me," he said softly.

"Your kind has deceived before. Consider us even," I responded, matching his intensity. 

"Cas, dammit! Get over here," Dean called to him. 

Castiel stared at me for a moment longer before breaking my gaze and moving to Sam and Dean's side. With a simple touch, Sam stood wearily on his once shattered legs, thanked Castiel and made his way from the building. He had no words for Dean or myself, but Dean seemed to be the only one offended by it.  
We salted and burned the remaining bodies inside and left.

The image of Lily flashed in my head over and over again and I just wanted it to weaken me, but my body refused to give in. My blood boiled underneath my skin and the sweat that beaded off me swept the blood spatter down my skin. The bandage on my shoulder from my training with Candy had torn off and the wound reopened, I suspected during the fight, as did the one on my hand. Castiel continued to lecture us on the importance of keeping me hidden away and keeping Dean and I separated. His voice had started as a low growl, but as Dean argued with him, it grew louder and angrier.  
My boiling point had either been lowered since being possessed or I had been sitting at it for a long period, but something in me burst and I balled my fist up and hit Castiel across the face. I felt my hand connect with his jaw, but the impact was like I had hit a brick wall. The bones in my hand cracked and I swore loudly in the forest near the bunker.

"That doesn't work on him," Dean said. The pain in my hand singed and it felt like fragments of bones swam under the skin.

" _Angels_ ," I spat the word out. "Are the reason they have any leverage on me," I yelled at him. 

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"What happened to your sister was unfortunate, but she made her choices," Castiel said. I turned to hit him again with my left hand, but Dean had picked me up and pulled me away. I fought against him and he let me go.

" _Her_ choices? She was born to scum people _you_ allowed to have children. She was picked on mercilessly by shit kids _you_ allowed to live." I moved to face him and peered into his eyes. I saw blue blurs staring back at me through tears.

"Your kind punished her for seeking out peace," I growled. "You abandoned her as much as I did."

The words had formed themselves and slipped from my tongue and the animal growing inside me had manifested and created an identity in my skin. I allowed it to take control as my exhaustion and despair overtook me. 

"Cas, what is she talking about?" Sam asked. I could feel Castiel's stare on my back as he spoke, but his voice displayed sadness. A sadness he had no right to demonstrate.

"Lily and Emma Stetson were born to Charlotte and Eric Stetson, two very destructive people addicted to methemphetamines. Emma left when she was 16 to better her and Lily's lives, but Emma encountered demons during her time in the military. She killed her fellow recruits and fled. She became a very high-profile fugitive. Lily became the sister of a terrorist and she was teased and beaten for it."

He looked up at me and I begged him not to say it, but he did anyway.

"She hanged herself 3 years later. Suicide is a sin and no admittance can be granted to heaven for a sin so great."

He recited it like medical jargon; it was factual and half of it sounded foreign to me, but I knew -- I knew what it meant.

" _Sin?_ " Dean asked. "That was a sin? Cas, how can that --"

"Dean, there was nothing we could do. This is how heaven was run," Castiel interrupted. "I can't fix it. Not with heaven being locked up." 

I stared up at the dirt wall that encompassed us and the billowing smoke from the power plant. There was a hole in my chest and it felt weighed by regret. A hand pressed to my forehead and everything in me surged. My hand felt whole again and the laceration on my arm no longer existed. My body felt new. The Winchesters were cheating, keeping this angel around to fix the issues that arose. I could only assume it was why they were still here. After all, it was why I was still fighting and breathing. 

Castiel had vanished when I turned and I was left with the blank faces of the Winchesters. We still had not located Chives and old wounds had been ripped open. This was the part of the storyline where we barricaded ourselves inside to sulk in the information and to research it. 

 

"So what now?" Sam asked, looking to Dean and I for answers. I looked to Sam, then to Dean, settling on the green fury that hadn't settled in him.

"We kill every last one of them," I said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Bully" by Shinedown


	18. 18 Heaven Knows

The one good thing about the bunker at this point was the extensive bar that was fully stocked whenever I had seen it. 

"They expected her to be with us," Sam said to Dean. "That's why we haven't had much activity. They knew she wasn't dead." 

I grabbed a bottle of the whiskey that had been poured into the crystal container set up on the counter and the accompanying glass Dean and I had used a few times before. I set them down on the table closest to me and sat, settling my feet up on the hardwood tabletop. I poured a full glass and gulped the fire down. 

"Where was Castiel hiding you?" Dean asked. I ignored the question and finished off the glass I had poured and set myself up with another.  
He didn't seem to like being ignored because he smacked my feet off the table, asking me again.

"Where was he keeping you and why?"

"He really didn't tell you anything when I was gone?" I focused my sights on him, amused that the ultimate angel partner was keeping such hefty secrets from his 'trusted' friends. I smiled at the thought and gulped down another.

"We, my good man, are Lif and Lífþrasir, the two remaining humans -- survivors of Ragnarok -- and the rebirth of the new world," I explained with dramatic gesture. I poured myself another drink.

"English please," he said unamused and sitting across from me.

"She means as the remaining humans, you would repopulate the new world," Sam said. Dean's eyes widened and it seemed something in him pieced itself together.

"That makes sense," he said.

"You mean as to why we were knocked out and placed in a zombie apocalypse/Ragnarok crossover universe and then made to have sex? Or why I was possessed and the thing inside me tried to have sex with you before Sammy-boy walked in? You mean all that makes sense?"

"Wait, you mean you two --?" Sam started.

"No," I answered for the both of us. "Well, at least I don't think we did." 

Sam grabbed one of the books setup on the adjacent table and scanned through the words as Dean and I stared each other down.  
"'-- Líf and Lífþrasir, will have also survived the destruction by hiding in the wood Hoddmímis holt. These two survivors consume the morning dew for sustenance, and from their descendants the world will be repopulated,'" he quoted. When he looked up, he saw the exchange Dean and I were having. 

"Do I need to leave the room?" Sam asked.

"No," I said pointedly. "That is the problem our little conspiring posse were having. Dean and I are not willing participants."

Dean cleared his throat and nodded abruptly before looking away. I rolled my eyes at him.

"So these encounters you two have been having --" Sam began asking.

"Blind dates," I said enthusiastically. "I think they were trying to get Dean and I close in these dream states and hoping they would project into our reality. When they didn't, that bitch burnt my tattoo off and made herself cozy inside me. Frankly, she presented herself pretty cheaply and I'm ashamed to say Dean gave in a little." I gulped down another cup and lost track of how many I had. Dean seemed insulted by the reveal.

"Hey! It has been a little long for me and I was vulnerable," he argued. Sam rolled his eyes and I laughed at him. 

"Your reputation precedes you," I said. 

"You're no looker either, you know," he quipped.

"Oh no. I've hurt your feelings?" I asked, mocking him. He stood abruptly, taking the bottle from me and walked out of the room. I tried to grab after it, but I didn't have the energy to chase him for it. 

"Your brother's sensitive about his looks, huh?" I said, turning my attention to Sam. He continued reading through the book in front of him and ignored me. I stood, gave up on the other Winchester and grabbed the other bottle at the bar and went to my room. 

Drinking myself into a stupor was not the smartest thing I had done thus far, but there was something satisfying and completely unfulfilling about it, all at once.

 

Sleeping, as usual didn't suit my interests. Every time I closed my eyes I could see Lily's face, seeming relaxed and alive then drained and screaming at me. Kate's wide smile blinded me and it always warped into blood and piles of bodies I had collected over the past decade. Even as I was made aware of the dreaming in its inconsistency, it was exhausting and disheartening. I was losing myself and I knew it. I gripped the green bottle and dragged my feet along the concrete corridor as I wandered the halls. The building was dull in its efficiency and there were so many doors. I stumbled into an open one, where a casing of books lined the back wall. A small crack between the two middle shelves leaked a small amount of light through and onto the main floor. I dipped my fingers between the opening and pushed, but the shelving didn't move. Finally, I pulled on the weight and they slid open like double doors. Behind the facade wall was a small table, a chair, and chains sitting on top of a massively drawn devils trap.

I stared at the scene for a moment without a thought and slowly closed the shelving back to its original positioning. Despite the past couple of months with the Winchesters, I really didn't know them well enough and I didn't know the Men of Letters. Whatever it was they were into doing, I was okay not being a part of it for the moment.  
As I continued to drag through the hallways, I came upon another open room door, this time the side walls were lined with small cases, all labeled and placed numerically by their case ID's. A long table sat centered in the room with a large antique projector on it, pointed at the white wall ahead of it. The room was as dusty as the others, but a few chairs had been untucked and a reel of film sat in the projector. In my mixed thought and vision, I clicked the nearest button and the projector began clicking away as images flashed along the screen.

"The date is August 3, 1958." A man spoke through the black and white film and he looked directly at me. His white collar stood out on his black outfit. 

"This is trial 19, hour 1. My subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago, he was possessed by a demon," he continued. The man he chained to the floor growled and snarled as he spoke.  
"I'm going to ask you a question now," he said to the man. "When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?"

"Orgasmic," the creature said through ragged breathing.  
I watched the images continue to flash as I gulped the remaining liquid from my green bottle and as I gripped it in my hand, I watched the light glint off of it. I looked back at the white wall and threw the bottle with full force, shattering it. The clip continued to play uninterrupted and as it did, I walked along the wall, lining my finger along the spines of the cases and their assigned ID numbers. I pulled a few out at random and opened them. In each one, it seemed there was a synopsis of the recorded events in the left inside cover.  
I moved through the lore of the Abominable Snowman and Angels to Dragons and Golems, up to Mr. Hyde and Trolls, before finally landing on a subject that circulated our entire world; Werewolves. I pulled the case from the shelf and opened it, scanning through the synopsis and as I reached the end of the writing, in large letters, it read: "Ragnarok?"

A reel of film sat in a sized tin case labeled with a matching case number and I loaded the film into the projector and hit the button.

"Case 8647302839," a younger man spoke. "My s-subject is Matthew H-Holland." He stuttered through his speech, looking off to his side every so often.

"You can do this, my son," a voice spoke from off camera. The young man nodded and I recognized the voice as the same man I had watched a few moments ago with the demon. Behind them both, a man shackled lay on the ground growling, bearing his teeth and yellow eyes. His wrists and ankles sizzled around the chains which I could only assume had silver on them.  
"Mr. Holland i-is a born werewolf, 8th generation --" The chains clanged behind him as the werewolf stretched out to attack and the young man flinched away from him.

"You must do this," the priest called again. The young man moved back into camera view, now visibly shaking and holding a silver blade. He moved slowly toward the large creature and the monster growled louder and laughed.  
"Your God means nothing," the monster smiled. "Even He will die."  
The young man looked on at the creature in awe now, but did not speak. The priest came into view and he looked into the werewolf's eyes. 

"What do you speak of, Lycanthrope?" he demanded.

The creature began to speak in what sounded like Old Norse, but I was unable to follow it and unable to translate any of it. The young man dropped his knife and grabbed the nearest pen and paper and began to write quickly as the werewolf spoke.  
Matthew Holland let out a maniacal laugh and pulled at his chains.  
"The sons of Muspell will merge and in their battle, all will be destroyed."  
The creature let out a loud growl and snapped at his chains, breaking free of it and swiping through the air. The camera blurred as it moved away and now I could only make out a set of legs headed to the loosened monster. The cameraman focused on the creature again and a new figure stood in front of him, holding the silver blade, now sitting inside the werewolf's chest.  
"Turn it off," the priest demanded and the film turned loosely in the projector. I clicked the same button and the machine turned off.  
I looked down at the open case in front of me.

"The Frost-Giants and the Fire-Giants," Sam said from the doorway. I looked up at him, a bit startled that he was standing there. I hadn't noticed his presence and I blamed the lack of awareness on the alcohol still swimming in me. 

"That's who the sons of Muspell are." He straightened up from leaning on the doorframe and looked at me. I didn't know what it meant. As I fiddled with the corner of the synopsis page, a second page beat against my finger. I pulled the first page out and the second stuck to it. I carefully pulled them apart and noticed the terribly written language set up in a verse in the center on the parchment.

"What is that?" Sam asked as I examined it.

"The translation," I said.

 

"Why am I up at four in the morning listening to you two?" Dean griped.

"Just listen," Sam insisted.  
"Brothers will fight  
and kill each other,  
sisters' children  
will defile kinship.  
It is harsh in the world,  
whoredom rife  
\--an axe age, a sword age  
\--shields are riven--  
a wind age, a wolf age--  
before the world goes headlong.  
No man will have  
mercy on another."

I spoke the words as they were written on the page Sam and I had found relating to the verse written on the old parchment. It had been very roughly translated, but Sam was able to pinpoint some of the lines he had skimmed through while researching. 

"What does any of that mean?" Dean asked, just as annoyed as before.

"The brothers are the sons of Muspell," I said.

"The Frost- and Fire-Giants," Sam finished.

"Okay?" Dean said blankly.

"We think this is the final battle to bring down the Gods and the world around us," Sam said. 

"So how do we stop it?" Dean asked, looking at us both.

Sam and I looked at each other without an answer to offer. We seemed to have jumped the gun on the progress we thought we had made. It was new information for us, but it still lead us nowhere. A knock on the main door broke us from our blank stares.

As Dean ran up and opened it, Castiel walked in past him and joined us in the main room. He barely looked at me as he slipped the paper from in front of me at the table and read it over, along with the book Sam had. 

"You are the sons of Muspell," he said simply. He walked to Dean and stood very close to him as he spoke at a normal volume.

"Can you please stop calling me for petty things? I have other matters," he said. Dean slightly nodded and awkwardly smiled. He looked up at us and Sam and I had both made the same annoyed expression at him. 

"Cas, what does that mean?" Sam called after him as he began to make his way to the staircase again.

"What it meant the last time," he replied, turning around to join us again.

"What happened last time?" I asked.

"The Winchesters were and probably still are vessels for Michael and Lucifer in the battle of the apocalypse," Cas said.

"I'm sorry. What?" I looked back and forth at the two of them who only gave sheepish looks to the ground. "I thought those were farfetched rumors made up by the gossipy hunters who wanted you dead."

"They did want us dead for it," Dean said. "But because they weren't rumors."

"You were the vessels for Michael and Lucifer?" I slumped in the chair next to me and rested my head in my hands. What had I gotten myself into?

"They thwarted heaven in their attempt to bring about the apocalypse and the final battle for earth. These two saved billions of lives," Cas defended.

"So then what the hell is happening now if not exactly that?" They all stared at me as if a chicken had mysteriously appeared on my head and laid an egg on it.

"Seriously? If you two are the sons of Muspell, as you were the vessels for Michael and Lucifer, set to battle and bring about the eventual apocalypse -- how is that any different from before?"

"Actually," Dean started. "She's right. This is just rinse and repeat. There isn't anything original about this."

"So we're clearly not in the apocalypse now, so we can still prevent it. How did you stop it before?" 

"Sam, being possessed by Lucifer, threw himself into the pit and effectively locked the Devil up," Castiel replied casually.

"Oh -- Well, Sam, lookin' good."  
It was all I could muster up to say. I looked over at Sam who moved uncomfortably before sitting. He seemed to be recalling something before he broke away from it, rubbing his hands together.

"So who's who?" Dean asked.

"Does it matter? The solution is not to fight. We don't know of any other players on the board at this point. We just know who's planning it."

"We do have one more piece," Sam finally spoke. "You. They called you 'mother.' That demon said you and Dean were to build an army in the new world. That is another element we control."

"Do we?" Cas asked, staring at Dean intently. 

"But that does not stop what has already started. That's all aftermath. Right now, the beginning stages of Ragnarok have begun and people are dying in what they believe are rare acts of nature."

We all sat for a moment in silence thinking over possible solutions, other parties that could potentially be involved, and what each of our parts really meant in this. 

"We know one thing needs to be done," Dean said. "We kill Abbadon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:   
> "Heaven Knows" by Pretty Reckless


	19. 19 Seven Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based loosely on Season 9, Episode 16

"Come on Crowley. Pick up!" I looked up to see Dean pacing, gripping his phone tightly and staring at it angrily. Sam had looked up from his laptop with notice from Dean.

"Where the hell is he? It's not like he's got a social life."

"Are you actually worried?" Sam asked. I could hear Crowley's feint voice in Dean's 6th attempt to call him.

"Guy's got one job -- find the First Blade, bring it back. How hard is that?" Dean spat. 

"It's Crowley. He's not exactly a team player," Sam said.

It was an almost factual statement. Crowley kept his deals, but every so often he enjoyed straying or finding another piece to play with in his victims games. I had encountered him multiple times in my years, but only a few when he took on being King of Hell. I had never understood how involved the Winchesters were with him until Sam filled me in on the use of the massive devils trap painted around their fun-chair behind the shelves in one unsuspecting room.

"Yeah, but his ass is on the line, too. He goes missing for weeks on end without a peep? Well, not one that makes sense, anyway. Listen to this," he said, placing his phone down on the table. Crowley's voice came through in slurred and sad sounding words. It had sounded like he was crying and drinking heavily, but I didn't even know if liquor effected demons.

"Wait a second. Did he drunk-dial you?" Sam asked astounded. Dean picked up the phone attempting to dial again and Sam looked over at me, mouth still gaping a bit. Whatever Crowley had been doing didn't seem to be paying off well. I had only been briefly walked through the trials and what effect they had on Crowley, but Sam found it hard to believe it effected Crowley in any deep way. 

I vouched to stay in the bunker while Sam and Dean went off to find whatever they needed to track Crowley. Even with everything going on, I needed to find Chives and I needed some time to myself. I had been surrounded by Demons and Angels and the Winchesters darkening drama and just when I thought Death might be an escape, it left a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut and small flashes of memories I had tried to bury deep down. That demons face showed up more than any other.

When I thought of my sister, that young full face was only a glimpse before it turned blue and the bruises circling her neck grew dark. The last time I had seen her was before I became a wanted fugitive after Galus Field. She looked bright despite the deepening circles under her eyes. I knew then that she was suffering, but I asked her to hold on a bit longer. I hadn't really been honest with how bad it got, but it wasn't anything I could risk considering how I had lied to enlist. 

Deciding to lock myself away in the bunker hadn't proven to be such a good idea because I found it hard to resist the bottle of whiskey sitting in the liquor cabinet. It was unopened, but the last of its kind in the cabinet. It kept me warm in my studies of Cain and Ragnarok and maps of Kansas, but my attempts to track Chives or make sense of lore grew poor and blurry. Before I knew it, the bottle was emptied of its contents and I was empty of energy.

 

 

"That doesn't make sense. He wants to power it up and kill the ginger. He set it up," I heard Dean say from the depths of my darkened silence. My head pounded against the table and when I awoke, Sam and Dean had already been in the midst of their routine. Sam sat in front of his laptop and Dean paced with his phone in his hand again, I assumed still trying to contact Crowley.

"Okay. Assuming he does show up with it, Crowley is only useful to us until we have the Blade."

"Yeah. So?"

"So there's nothing stopping us from using it on him, right?"

"Nothing at all," Dean said, but I could hear the small amount of hesitance in his voice. I attempted to sit up and heard the bones in my back and neck crack as I moved. My face felt hot and my body felt used. Sam and Dean looked over at me, but didn't speak before Dean's phone rang.

"Speak of the devil," he said and answered the phone.

Sam leaned in a bit toward me, looking me over. My head still swam as I slowly breathed in and out to steady my bearings. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing at the empty bottle standing next to me. I looked over at it and my stomach turned. I had finished the entire bottle and hadn't realized it and worse, I had passed out in the library in the chair. I looked down at the book my head rested on, mostly checking for drool, but luckily found none. I nodded my head to Sam.

"Crowley needs us," Dean said simply. He looked over at me and narrowed his vision.

"I'm good," I said and the words echoed in my head. "Let's just go."

There hadn't been time to argue before we left in the Impala, but there wasn't any energy to do it on the drive either and I was thankful for that. 

 

 

Crowley's hotel room was luxurious in comparison to what I had been adjusted to sleeping in with the exception of the three bodies laying on the floor. Sam and I checked them over for pulses and causes. Two men, one significantly larger than the other, lay flat and lifeless in the main room speckled with needle marks in their necks. The woman laying in the bedroom closest was somewhat fresher and scantily dressed, blood drenched in the carpeting below her. Her wounds had almost looked burnt from the inside out.

"Demon," I said, looking up at Dean and Sam. I sat on the bed and it's buoyancy drew me in and I gave in, laying back to let the sheets take me in. It smelled like sex and sadness and it was obvious how lost Crowley really was. Dean leaned against the wall and Sam sat just in front of the door as the door handle rattled on the other side. I stared up at the ceiling, listening to the figure come in to the room and close the door.

"Hello boys," he said. It had been some time since I had heard that raspy voice.

"And what do you call this?" Dean said. 

"Refreshments?" he responded.

"What's in the bag, Crowley?" Sam chimed.

"Nothing," he said. I looked over, unable to help the smile on my face and small giggles I let slip. Sam had stood and approached Crowley.

"Really? Maybe I can --" Sam tore the bag and snatched a red bag from Crowley's grasp.  
"What, are you knocking over blood banks?"

He grabbed Crowley's arm as Dean swung a chair to rest underneath him and shoved the King into it, snapping warded cuffs around his wrists. I sat up still giggling and Crowley finally looked up at me.

"What is she doing here?" he asked. Both men looked over at me, almost confused. I sat up on the edge of the bed, still slightly smiling.

"They'd make great parents, wouldn't they?" I asked Crowley. "A bit uptight, but very involved."  
I stood up and slowly walked to him.  
"Hello Crowley."

"You two know each other?" Dean asked.

"Unfortunately," Crowley said. Dean and Sam still looked up at me for a moment.

"You look like crap, King," I said. Crowley's eyes were sunken in and his skin was pale. He looked simply used. Dean finally turned his attention back to him.

"You know, we were counting on you. You let us down," he said.

"Your slimy followers were counting on you to kill Abaddon, and you let them down," Sam added.

"The man with all the mojo -- Captain Evil," Dean muttered.

"Oh, it's pathetic."

"What is this? An intervention?" Crowley shouted.

"You need to focus, Crowley. Get a grip!" Sam said.

"What, you just gonna let Hell go to Hell?" Dean said. I almost slapped my forehead in embarrassment, but considering how out of it Crowley was, there was really no one to be embarrassed in front of.

"You don't know what it's like to human!" Crowley had grown weary suddenly and we just stared. The once King of Hell struggling to keep it together and I got to witness it. This was definitely a moment I would cherish.

"It's in your DNA. It's my addiction, my cross, my burden." I rolled my eyes at him.

"All right, take it easy," Dean said, just as fed up.

"I see the darkness of it now -- the Anthony Weiner of it. It makes you needy. I _needed_ her." He gestured his head to the dead body in the bedroom.  
"Lola used me. She reported everything I did back to Abaddon."

I could feel the atmosphere in the room tighten as Sam stood and stepped at the strapped demon.

"Crowley -- Did you tell her about the First Blade?" he asked.

"I don't know. Things get a trifle blurry when I'm medicated," he responded sheepishly.

"Great. If he told Lola, she definitely told Abaddon," he said to Dean and I.

"Which means that Abaddon's in the hunt for this thing, too," I said.

"All right, you know what? This crap ends now. You're cut off," he spoke to Crowley. "Okay? Kicking it. Cold turkey."

 

 

Kidnapping the King of Hell to lock him up in a warded bunker proved easier than I had anticipated. In the times I had encountered him, he was a fiend and a trickster and a beast all rolled into one. He spoke with an evil sense of grace and his plans were always well thought out. The jittering thing we had strapped up in the Winchesters little dungeon was nothing to be frightened of, nor was it any kind of real threat to us or to anyone. 

"Is it really a good idea to leave him in there with Sam?" I asked Dean. We sat at the table next to the one I had fallen asleep on the night before. 

"For the moment, we need him. Sam knows that. He won't do anything." Dean rubbed his face and slumped in the chair across from me, and sighed. Sometimes it seemed that his burdens pushed him farther and faster and with an unfathomable amount of strength, but then there were moments when he let it weigh on him and he looked slowed and tired. 

"Are you all right?" I asked him. He looked up at me for a moment, confused, then glanced over at the empty bottle at the next table, before looking back up at me.

"Are you?" he asked. I sat back and looked over to the bottle, staring into it like it had transformed into a crystal ball.

"I'll replace it," I promised. When I looked back at him, his eyes just narrowed at me. 

"Emma, your sister --"

"Don't --" It was mostly a begging question, but I had meant it to be a demand.  
"Do you think Crowley knows where the blade actually is?" I needed Dean to refocus his attention, even if just for the moment. I didn't have it in me to relive anything, but he only shrugged.

 

 

I stared down at the maps and laptop in front of me, searching its lines and named streets for any details Dean and Sam provided. Sam and Dean obtained information differently than I did and seemed to enjoy dressing up as FBI agents in order to gather what they needed, but I had never gained the patience or resources to do those things. I created fake credit cards to pay for cheap motels and small meals. After everything I had done and all the lives I had taken or had been unable to save, I never found it in me to steal too much from the people I tried so desperately to protect. Instead, I found myself locked up in the bunker again, but I wasn't sure if it was to avoid an upset Castiel or to avoid people altogether. I just kept tracking the story Dean and Sam told me when they lost Chives. She was a tough partner, but I wasn't sure she was even alive anymore. Still, I'd find her and at least give her the hunters funeral she deserved. 

My burner phone vibrated against the table and the noise knocked me from my head.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"We've got something, but we can't bring the big baby. Mind watching him?" Dean asked.

"I don't babysit."

"Then keep him in his crib," he said. I rolled my eyes. I didn't enjoy the idea of being stuck in this bunker with him, even in a different room.

"Fine. What lead?" I asked.

"National Institute of Antiquities," he said. I pulled up the search engine on the laptop and typed in the name. The first link was the main website linking to general information about the building and its use. The second link, though, had caught my eye. I clicked on the title "Possible Triple Murder at National Institute of Antiquities" and scanned through the accompanying article.

"It's the right place," I said.

"Why do you say that?" Dean asked. 

"Three people are dead."

"Awesome," Dean sighed.

 

 

Strapping up Crowley wasn't exactly as entertaining as I had thought. Despite his tattered state, he still found energy to speak. 

"It's been some time, love," he said. I tightened the cuffs around his ankles and heard him hiss.

"Not long enough," I said.

"Aw, don't be like that. I've missed you."

"What do you want Crowley?" I said, finally standing in front of him. 

"Just a taste." He looked up at my neck and I could see the dilation in his pupils. He was deep in the withdrawal state, but not enough to resist any temptation. I had seen it before in my parents.

"What did they do to you?" I asked him.

"They injected me," he said softly, ashamed. "With human blood."

"Why would they do that?"

He looked up at me, contemplating the question before fully ignoring it.

"I was always curious then, but now -- now it's darker in you. It's always sweeter when it's darker," he whispered. "You're not the same dough-eyed shit I met years ago, are you?"

"You're full of it, King. You're drowning in yourself, much weaker than I had seen years ago."

"You're right, you know? You'd taste -- bitter," he enunciated the word. "But your sister -- she would have tasted downright sour." 

I slipped my blade from the sheath on my back and turned around quickly to face him. The tip of my blade rested on his Adam's apple and poked a little to indent his skin. He moved his head back and kept himself from swallowing for a moment before bringing his head down to face me. 

"Do we actually need you?" I asked, pushing the blade a little bit further. He smiled at me.

"I don't believe it would make mum and dad too happy to know that you killed their only chance at finding the blade," he said.

"I think mom and dad want their mistake gone as much as _it_ wants to live." His smile faded. 

"They don't know much about you, do they?" he asked. I could feel my face give way to the emotions brewing inside me and I pulled my blade from his neck. Crowley and I had met various times before he was King of Hell and a few times after he claimed his throne, but they were visits I did not want to recall. I sheathed my blade and continued to stare off.

"We could help each other," he said. 

"Shut up Crowley," I said softly. I turned on my heel again and turned the light off before slamming the two moving shelves to close him in the dark again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine


	20. 20 Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued Episode 16 events

I almost hadn't noticed Sam and Dean come through the main bunker hallway with Crowley in tow, still chained and dragging across the floor. They sat him in a chair in the corner of the library. Dean poured from the crystal bottle sitting on top of the liquor cabinet and handed the small glass to Crowley with a bitter face. Sam dragged out dusty cardboard boxes and set them on the table, as they rifled through them.

"Why did we take him off time out?" I asked, getting up from my seat at the lit mapped table. I walked into the library room from the steps, watching the Winchesters dive into old files, all marked with the same symbol that lined the doors of the bunker.

"It's not very good scotch, is it?" Crowley complained from his chair. 

"We have gone through the records for the entire membership in 1958. Every single name matches the men who were killed," Sam said.

Crowley picked up the colorful magazine sitting on the table closest to him and began flipping through the pages, turning them sideways and folding out the extended posters. Dean tended to leave his personal magazines lying around, but they weren't exactly expecting guests.

"That would be the active membership, correct?" he said. I could see the annoyance in Sam's face as he looked up at Crowley. 

"Were you two dropped on your heads a great deal?" he said.  
"Love, I do apologize for the pain you must endure being surrounded by these two," he said to me. "Like I told you," he turned his attention back to the Winchesters. "Rumor has it that a rogue member was tossed on his arse. Does that make him 'active'? Seriously, boys, how do you ever function without me?"  
He turned back to his magazine after shaking his head. "Well, hello, Miss Ichigatsu."

My patience with the demon was beginning to build in the negatives as I walked past him to the boxes Dean and Sam had been going through. Dean picked up a file and read the title scrawled on it. 

"Infamati et obliterati."

"Dishonored and forgotten," Crowley spoke from behind his magazine.

 

 

It was as if the words had sent us into a frenzy of research. The three of us sat and poured over files of Men I had never heard of and ideas that had never seen the sun. Men of Letters were innovative and dedicated and mostly brilliant. I saw now why they differed so greatly from the hunters of their time and still did. Sam and Dean both held the resourcefulness of these men, but they paired it with frightening skills and strength.  
Dean spotted the file of a man named Cuthbert Sinclair, who had apparently designed most of the warding in the bunker. He had been named "Master of Spell" after his initiation, but as he continued to experiment and propose ideas, the Men of Letters leadership noted him to be 'eccentric' and 'irresponsible.' Dean pulled file after file out from under his name, all stamped with a large red lettering, 'REJECTED.' 

"'Formal separation from Men of Letters -- April 1956,'" Dean read off.

"He missed the massacre," Sam added. 

"The one when Abaddon showed up?" I asked. Dean nodded at me.

"I never knew his name, but I heard someone was out. Did my damnedest to find him. Thought he might be my way inside this joint," Crowley said, pouring the last few drops of scotch into his glass.

"So where'd you look?" Sam asked.

 

 

They left, King of Hell in tow and ready for anything. What I hadn't anticipated was them being gone for a full day or them coming back empty-handed with one less creature. 

"What happened?" I asked, finally putting my phone down as they stomped into the main room. Sam's face had two fresh marks on it and Dean looked more exhausted than he had earlier today. "Did you find it?"

"We found it," Sam said, glancing over at Dean. 

"But?" I urged.

"Crowley's run off with it," Dean said angrily. 

"What?"

"He figured out his use for us had run its course," Dean explained. 

"So he's got himself some leverage now?"

Sam nodded. "We need to find him before Abaddon does."

"So let's find him," I said. I looked over to Dean as his knees buckled beneath him and he crashed to the floor before Sam or I could get to him. 

"Dean!" he yelled, as he got to the floor to check him. I could see his chest heave as he breathed against the hardwood floor. 

"What the hell happened to him?" I asked Sam. Sam turned him over, but he didn't wake. His face looked to be twisted in pain, like he was experiencing a bad dream. 

"He held the blade," Sam said simply. I held Dean's arm out to view the mark and small purple veins stretched a small distance from the symbol and it looked to be glowing faintly. Dean clenched his fists and twitched slightly in Sam's arms as he fought whatever it was he saw in his mind. 

"We need to find Crowley and the blade," I said.

"What are we supposed to do about Dean?" he said.

"We can't do much until this is over."

 

Sam and I gathered what the Men of Letters had provided us and it was enough to call on a King of Hell or any other crossroads demon we needed. We packed his car with the needed supplies and ensured the trunk was warded with what we needed. I saw the markings keyed into Dean's Impala and Sam explained its Enochian translation was meant for Crowley. I could only imagine the anger Dean felt at seeing that, but it was clear they were being tracked and Abaddon was in a race for the blade.  
Sam closed the trunk as I wrapped my blades sheath around my torso. 

"I think we have everything," he said, looking at me. The wounds on his face and neck began to scab with dried blood and I lifted my hand to place it near them.

"Shouldn't we patch this up?" I asked.

"I'm fine. It only stings a bit." I could tell he was lying, but I nodded in response and slightly smiled. I let my hand rest on the nape of his neck and ran my thumb along the bottom of the cut lightly. He lifted his hand and placed it on my wrist, moving his eyes to rest on mine. His pulse quickened a bit under my rested hand and it almost made me feel guilty about my pressing thoughts. Despite it, I balled my fist and swung at his face before he could register the change in me. I connected with his face and his hand slipped from mine as he tumbled to the ground, unconscious. My hit was enough to knock him out, but he was still much larger than I was, so I had to let him fall. His weight would have surely taken me down if I had attempted to catch him. 

I pulled the keys from his pocket and popped the trunk open. I removed the demon blade and few extra weapons I didn't find necessary. If my plan didn't work, I couldn't be responsible for artillery loss for the boys. I only needed the ingredients to call a demon: the spray paint, chalk, and rope, along with the only other vehicle that seemed current, a rusted 1971 Chevelle.

I gripped under Sam's arms and dragged his large body near the door to the bunker and sat him against the wall. He'd be fuming when he woke, as would Dean the moment he heard I had knocked out his brother and stole one of his vehicles. It wasn't the Impala I was taking though, so maybe I could get off with a quick death.

I left the bunker in the raggedy Chevelle in a fury. I needed to be far from them in order to keep them from finding me, at least for a few days. I needed time before being met with their wrath.

 

 

I finished spray painting the massive devils trap in the midst of the crossroad and put the spell ingredients together before calling out to him.

"You could have just called," Crowley said, appearing in the middle of the trap. He looked down and noticed where he stood, his face twisting in annoyance. I brushed off the portion of the trap I stood near, breaking the symbol I had just drawn into the ground. Crowley's eyes narrowed on me before he stepped out. He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

"I drove out two days to do this, King," I shouted into the empty darkness. "We can make a deal."

I waited for a few minutes before he finally reappeared in front of me.

"What could you possibly give me?" he said. 

"You know exactly what I need," I said.

"Oh yes, love, I do, but it's of no use to you without the mark, so where are the nitwits you associate with?"

"Preoccupied and more importantly, not here. So you can stop looking around for them."

"Interesting. Mum and Dad don't know you're here, do they?" I shook my head sheepishly as I felt the small amount of guilt that built in me.

"Sneaking out after midnight didn't go over well with them, so I ran away," I quipped.

"What could you possibly offer me, baby sister?" he said, returning the attitude.

"What's usually done in a deal -- my soul."

"For the blade?" he said, genuinely surprised. He stared at me for a moment before he relaxed.  
"You want something else, too." He paced a bit near me.

"You give us the blade, we take out Abaddon, you have your throne back --" I paused and stared at the dirt beneath me. Tears had involuntarily begun to well in my eyes as I thought back to the happy, full face of my sister being twisted in death.

"Go on, love. Say it," he edged on.

"You release my sisters soul and allow her access into heaven." My eyes had dried as I spoke.  
He stopped pacing and stared at me.

"It doesn't work like that," he said softly. "Heaven, from my understanding, is shut down and even if it wasn't, I don't have an all access pass."  
I stared at the ground again, feeling at the end of my line. 

"But," he said, "I can offer you the next best thing."

"What next best thing?"

"Not so fast, darling. This is no ordinary deal. This is not your soul ten years from now."

"Tell me what I need to do," I said eagerly.

Crowley thought for a moment before letting a sly smile cross his face.  
"I have a few ideas."

"No blood," I said.

"That's not how deals work. Plus, I'm trying to kick the habit," he said. He paused for a moment, before speaking slowly. "I give you the blade, you kill Abaddon and I regain my throne. When I call on you," he began slowly. "You fight for me."

"I will not kill the Winchesters," I said. He rolled his eyes at me.

"You're not very good at this," he said, annoyed. "You mean nothing to the Winchesters."

"Crowley, I won't hurt or kill them. I won't agree to be an instrument in any harm that comes to them."

"What is it with you people?" he said to himself.

"I will not touch them," I said. "But I can keep them from killing you."

"I'm not sure anyone can do that. I've been at the top of their list for a while now."

"If these are the terms, then fighting for you entails keeping you alive."

Crowley thought for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

"So, what? Ten years?"

"Oh please, with the Winchesters alive, I'll need you longer than that, love. You fight for me for as long as I say." I stared at the ground and glimpsed my future for a moment. It was bleak and already began to weigh on me. "You help regain my throne and keep the Winchesters off me."

 

Crowley narrowed his eyes on me again, before looking up to recall our deal.  
"So the blade and breathing Winchesters in exchange for your allegiance?"

"Don't call it that."  
"I can call it a handshake, if you'd like, but it will not keep you from being bound to me."

For a moment, I regretted the position I had put myself in, but I thought of the world around me being drowned in oceans and taken over by Abaddon's army. An army she wanted me to build with Dean Winchester.

"All right," I finally said. He smiled at me for a moment before disappearing and reappearing inches in front of me. He looked into me for a moment. I showed no regret in my stance and no disloyalty in my stare. 

"Do we have a deal?" he asked. I paused only for a moment before breathing the word.  
"Yes."

He leaned in and very softly, kissed my lips before pulling me in at the waist. He opened his mouth and slowly pressed his tongue into mine as they tangled. He tasted of scotch and dirt and I felt as though I had expected it. He never turned to aggression, but just continued to kiss me the way a lover would his long lost partner, found again. When he finally broke away, he looked at me. I had never recalled any stories of such in-depth conclusions to the signing of a contract. 

"Was that completely necessary?" I asked, taking a step back from him.

"No. In fact," he said and pulled out a small piece of parchment and pen. "You just need to sign on the dotted line." I smacked his shoulder as he smiled. The man was conniving, but he was good at it. I snatched the pen from him, annoyed at his trick.

"Not bad for a rotten old man," I said, signing the paper he offered. 

"Years of practice, love. And it's 'boss' now," he said. "As a measure of good faith," he snapped his fingers. A small whimper echoed in the empty dirt lot and large honey eyes stared back at me before leaping. I caught her as she rushed to lick my face and I could no longer tell if it was slobber or tears that soaked my cheeks.

"Hey girl," I said softly mashing my fingers through her fur and we were left alone in the middle of nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "Alone Together" by Fall Out Boy


	21. 21 Burn It Down

Sleeping was a habit I had broken some time ago. Even when I drank, my eyes never shut long enough to consider it rest. Rotted motel smell became home again and I had missed seeing Chives curled up on the bed, sleeping for the both of us.

"I've got a job for you," Crowley said, sitting on the bed next to her. Chives and I had adjusted to his snap-appearing whenever he pleased, always unannounced. Crowley had seen me in every state imaginable, something I hadn't agreed to in our contract. 

"Well, you don't waste any time."

"Never," he said, taking out a small piece of paper and handing it to me. Three names were scrawled on it in sharp writing; Crowley's writing. 

"A hit list?" I asked in disbelief.

"Of sorts. Bring those lads to me, alive." I didn't have time to sigh before Crowley disappeared from my sight. It was the only decent thing he'd done for me in the past day.  
As I returned to my laptop and papers, I caught glimpse of a small box, now on my desk.

On the tag, 'Boss' was written in sharp lettering, matching the same typography that decorated the small list Crowley had handed me. I ripped the packaging open to find a brand new touch screen smartphone. I lifted the top portion to reveal the physical phone matching the photo on the front. It had been opened already and placed in a case. The case was a dark red rubber with a black plastic piece hugging in the rubber. 'Devil's box' was etched into the black plastic. A small tone sounded and the phone vibrated in my hand.  
A small bar lined the main screen, showcasing the identifier "Boss" and the text that had come through.

"Your resources," it read, with a small smiling devil icon. He was really milking the 'boss' thing, but I didn't expect any less from him.  
The chime in the phone went off again.

"Happy hunting!"

I shook my head at the massive screen I held in my hand, then took my small flip phone from my pocket. The two sat in my hand and the size difference was something I found to be ridiculous.

The articles laid out, sprayed across the table with violent headlines bolded on every one of them. Normal folk in Illinois turning into killing machines, void of all humanity; activity rising in Chicago. I knew the boys would follow, which meant that I couldn't, so Crowley kept me busy and away from them.

Abaddon still searched for me and I knew I was still of value to her, whether it was dead or alive, but now I was under Crowley's ruling; a personal hit man and slave. He kept me busy, kept me moving, and kept me from his opponent. He could have bargained me long ago as bait, but instead, he kept me on his payroll. 

 

Crowley's phone proved useful on the go as I worked down his small list. The list, however, took me to three different states and the drive was exhausting. Whoever these people were, they were all the same age, but leading varying lives.

I found a mid-point from the three states before I started my journey and used it as a safe house to lock up Crowley's captives. 

It wasn't difficult getting onto a Texas college campus and slipping a roofie into Justin Parkin's drink at a frat party near his dorm. No one ever questioned a drunk college student, however, there was questioning of the broken hand I had left the roofie-dealing low life, but he said he had learned his lesson, so I wasn't forced to break anything else. It was unwanted attention, but something in me felt obligated to take the one roofie I needed and flush the rest.

The second name on the list was a man named Stuart Cambridge, who made his life in a small mobile home in the Eastern part of New Mexico. He lived with one deaf and blind grandparent, making it easier to drag him out after covering his mouth with a chloroform cloth. He was bigger than Justin and an active sleeper. He clipped me in the eye as I dragged him to the vehicle, whimpering.

The third name on the list proved to be the most challenging. Eric Warner was an aggressive kid who only honed his skills learning to box in Nebraska. He had made enemies in his past and proved to be a light sleeper. The weakened wooden floors that paved his small home made it difficult to step through it without echoing creaks to wake the giant. The boxer stood at 6 feet, 2 inches and what I estimated to be 250 pounds of muscle and uncontrollable aggression. 

Chloroform would be difficult considering I'd have a hard time getting the literal jump on him. He was full of energy and running him down proved to be a difficult task. I had run out of options, but resorted to the only thing I knew would have any effect on the massive being, so I took a large piece of wood to the back of his head and knocked him out.

Crowley sent me the location to meet with him. It was a small cliff surrounded with dirt, with the exception of the hole dug into a hilI. Cracked steps built into the ground beneath led to a small area of flat dirt ground. It looked as though the hobbit hole was man made and decades old, but out of use for some time. I tied them up to the thick columns that held the small area together. They whimpered at me as I texted Crowley a photo of the three of them. He appeared behind me and the two conscious men screamed beneath the duct tape, stirring the ball of aggression that had used most of my energy.

"All right, they're all yours," I said to him. He stepped forward, examining them, then turned to me, smiling.

"Actually, they're all _yours,_ " he said.

"What do I want with them?"

"Tell me what you found out about them," he demanded.

"Justin Parkins, 25 years old -- Living on campus -- 2 months from graduating with a Bachelors of Science and moving on to Medical school to become a Doctor -- Both parents still living, but separated -- 3 other brothers -- 2 known girlfriends.

"Stuart Cambridge, 24 years old -- Graduated with his high school diploma -- Living in a mobile community caring for his dying grandfather -- works two full-time jobs -- no other known family.

"Eric Warner, 25 years old -- Dropped out of high school -- Living in Nebraska alone -- took up boxing -- 3 known cases of abuse with one restraining order, filed by an ex-girlfriend -- mother still living, 2 other brothers, father unknown -- no communication."

The militant in me shined through as I spat out the pieces of information I had obtained while hunting these men down.

"And?" Corwley edged on.

"Oh and he has genital herpes," I concluded. The two smaller men looked over at his still sleeping body before trying to scoot further away from him.

"Beautiful," Crowley breathed as he circled and looked me over.

"These men are a gift to you from me. Think of it as a signing bonus." He handed me an aged yearbook with small tabs on varying pages. The front of the yearbook had the name of the school engraved in silver, along with the year and mascot.

"This is --" I caught myself as I spoke. "-- was Lily's school," I breathed, looking up at Crowley, who stood in front of the larger man. He slapped at his cheek to wake him and the large man came to. 

"Good morning, precious," he said to the man. He stood up straight to look down at them all. 

"You have all been brought here today with a common purpose due to a common experience you shared in your prime years. Without a doubt, you will all share a common conclusion here today."

I opened the cover of the book and pulled on the first tab to find colorful, organized photos of young students, all equipped with small quotes beneath each. Stuart Cambridge's name and photo was circled.  
I pulled the second tab to find a similarly structured page, but with Justin Parkins's name and photo circled. On the third tab, another photo page lined itself with quotes and names, but this time with a blank photo and name circled, displaying 'Eric Warner.'

"Nine years ago, you sorry excuses for human beings decided to use a small, lost girl as an outlet for your aggression and misogynistic view on the world --" he continued to them.

I pulled the last tab of the book and turned to a page filled with advertisements and sponsors that had worked with the school to help produce the book in my hand. In a small corner of the page, two lines of wording set below an ad for the local deli.  
 _"In loving memory of  
Lillian Stetson"_

"Today is the day you meet your judgment and boy, are you lot in for a treat."

I looked over at Crowley, who finally turned to look at me. 

"Who are these men?" I breathed.

Crowley stood next to Justin, who whimpered beneath his tape still. He tore the strip from his mouth and Justin's words began to spill out.

"Please, I didn't mean to. I didn't know she'd kill herself. Don't hurt me please."  
Crowley shoved the piece of tape back over his mouth and moved to the next man, Stuart. He tore his tape off, but the man only cried more, looking to the ground.

"I'm sorry," he whispered before Crowley shoved the tape back over his mouth.

The last man Crowley stood by kicked as he slowly tore the tape from his lips.

"That bitch had it coming," he spat. "What she never told anyone was that she liked when I was inside her." Crowley pressed the tape against his mouth as my eyes widened. The blood in my body had disintegrated and I felt my head balloon.

My knees buckled beneath me and I hit the ground hard, shaking the bile that rose in my throat. The anger in me boiled, but so did the desperation to take back everything I had just heard. Crowley stepped in front of me, placing his hand under my chin to lift my head. I looked at him and thought I saw sympathy in his eyes.

"They are yours to do what you will with them," he said. The tears streaming down my face only slightly tickled my numbed cheeks. He let go of me and disappeared.

My ears rang and my vision cleared, but my mind continued on it's comfortable fuzzy path. I was empty.

 

 

"You'll need a change of clothes, love," he said as I emerged from the underground hole. Blood dripped from my limbs and blade as I stared out at the small canyon ahead of us. The moon's blue glow lit our grounds and glinted off of me. My body felt drenched, but I don't remember feeling warm enough to sweat and I hadn't shed a tear after Crowley left me.

I could hear Eric Warner's muffled screaming from the surface where we stood and some semblance of empty satisfaction sat in my stomach. I had given the other two men a fairly quick death, but Eric Warner watched and now sat in a pool of his own blood, staring at his genitalia from across the dirt room.

"When you make them demons, they come to me," I demanded.

"Understood," he said softly.

 

 

Day in and day out, I tracked the Winchesters, but they seemed no closer to finding Abaddon, especially with Metatron's distractions. Angels were flaring up left and right and all in Castiel's name. I didn't find it surprising with an Angel war brewing, while the egomaniacs fought for the throne in hell. Either way, with both wars, there was one singular prize: the occupation and ruling of Earth. 

My head hit the table with a thud and Chives licked my palm from under the surface, whining lightly. I felt for her ears and rubbed them in my fingers while I stared at the back of my eyelids. I was no closer to finding Abaddon or Apollyon either, not even working off of what the boys had collected. Dean was losing his grip and Crowley and I both saw it, but Sam felt its weight the most. Every time I saw him, the circles under his eyes looked deeper and darker and his shoulders slumped a little more. 

My phone beeped and vibrated, shaking the wooden table against my forehead and I felt a headache begin to form. In large letters on the home screen, "BOSS" stared back at me.

_'We've got a meeting tonight. Leave the dog.'_

It could only mean an abundance of demons. Crowley knew how Chives was around them and he couldn't risk the tension, not while he fought for loyalty and fighters in his name. 

"Alright, kiddo," I said, petting her head. "Time for you to forage on your own. Stay outta trouble." I bent low to kiss the top of her head and she was not happy with me as we parted, her strutting down the street and my driving off -- away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "burn it down" by Linkin Park


	22. 21 Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of Episode 22 "King of the Damned"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "21 Guns" Performed Originally by Green Day  
> The one I reference is from the Broadway show American Idiot

Crowley sat at the end of a long table set in the sitting room of his obnoxious suite at the Humboldt Hotel. The wrinkle of his forehead seemed deeper as he stared down at his phone, clicking away at the touchscreen keys.

"How's the boyfriend? Still grounded?" I quipped, dropping my duffel bag on the closest couch.

"Go into the other room. They'll be here momentarily." He didn't look up at me as I moved to the bedroom watching one demon after another appear in the hotel room, all adjacent to accompanying seats at the same elongated table.

"Please, have a seat," he said courteously. The thin slit in the door was too thin to make out the faces of each demon that joined him, but I understood his reservations of me being seen.

"So, here's the thing, boys and girls," he began in his even tone. "We have a crisis. Admittedly, a crisis of my own making. In my extended absence, where I handled sensitive matters of state, Abaddon made inroads into my following, creating chaos. So I look to you, my trusted advisors, to restore confidence, to soothe those jangled nerves."

He spoke softly, but sharp, and a growing feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. I didn't trust this lot, but I wasn't sure anymore if it was because they were demons or if I didn't trust them for Crowley. 

"Spread the word -- the King is back, and the kingdom is once again on sound footing. So all those with me, say "yo!"

For a moment there was silence and the growing feeling in my stomach blossomed as a loud bang sounded in the room. It took everything in me not to burst through the door, but as I heard her voice, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

 _'Down girl,'_ the text read below its '666' sender. 

"Yo," I heard her mock. "I mean, I'm literally with you, not 'with-you with-you,'" she finished. 

"You betrayed me?" he shouted. "No one in the history of torture's been tortured with torture like the torture you'll be tortured with!"

In the midst of the predicament we found ourselves in, I found it in me to feel shame for the monster who insisted I call him 'King' or 'Boss.' 

"Relax everyone. You did the new queen a solid. You are sitting at the popular kids table," she spoke reassuringly. "Now, Crowley, let's talk turkey. I know you helped the Winchesters get their hands on the First Blade, yes? And I'm hearing that one of them also has the Mark of Cain -- all bad news, since the Blade is the one thing that can bring about my --"

"Utter destruction," Crowley finished and the shame I felt for him began to evaporate as I struggled against my invisible restraints.

"To be indelicate," she agreed. "But here's the thing, pet -- same goes for you. And once I'm gone, who do you think's next on those cute boys' list?"

I felt vulnerable, hiding behind closed doors as I remembered that my duffel bag sat on the couch in the living room. My only defenses sitting at the disposal of the thing that wanted me for _breeding._

"That's right. So let's get real. Join me in taking out the Winchesters and that ridiculous Blade, and then we'll deal with each other."

"To be clear," he said proudly. "I'll not be joining you ever, but seeing as how you seem to have a hold on these cowards," he growled, "I do find myself in a predicament."

There was a short moment of silence, before my entire body stiffened, my muscles aching beneath my skin. My feet slid against the carpeted ground as my body pushed through the double doors I had hid behind. 

"I have an offer," Crowley continued and I caught Abaddon's gaze on me; surprise then satisfaction. "I have a two for one." Abaddon stepped toward me, placing her hand on my cheek with a light caress, before twirling her finger in a loose hair. My body moved away from her and I was pushed into a nearby couch. I didn't have it in me to yell or argue and Crowley's hold wouldn't allow me to fight. I just stared at him. He was ready to break his deal with me, proving me useless and my deal with him worth nothing -- my betrayal to the Winchesters worth nothing.

"The Winchesters are not trusting men, Red. So I've brought a bargaining chip. I need to guarantee my safety and you need to guarantee your army as well as your own livelihood."

"I could have acquired her myself," Abaddon said.

"You see, darling, our little progeny has made her own deal with me, binding her to me. She is sworn to protect me and I won't give up my guard dog easily."

"You're _selling_ me?" I yelled at him.

"Her contract can be easily transferred," he ignored me. "And with her loyalty comes Deans."

Abaddon thought for a long moment, staring Crowley down, weighing the options, looking into her own painted future. Crowley knew nothing of my relationship with Dean and our surfaced dislike of one another, even after all Abaddon tried to put us through, but he was playing the hand anyway. 

"In return, you'd like to be spared, I assume?" Abaddon asked him.

"That would be ideal," he quipped.

"What else?" she asked.

"All I ask in return is to carve out my own private little corner of the world, doing what I do best."  
"Always the salesman," she said before nodding to him.

He slipped his phone from his pocket.  
"I told you I'd be in touch when I found Abaddon. Well, I'm in touch," he said. I hadn't heard anyone respond before he continued. "First things first. I'll give you the location of the First Blade. You two fetch it, I'll keep her in my sights, then we'll remove her from the payroll for good."

 

We played the waiting game for too long and the silence rang in the air whenever Crowley wasn't on the phone arguing with the brothers. 

"I'm no bargaining chip," I said finally. Eyes were on me, but I stared at my feet instead. "I'm nothing to the Winchesters." The words didn't feel like a lie. They weighed on my shoulders and I could see in Abaddon's face that she was beginning to mistrust the situation.

"What's your play?" she directed at Crowley. 

"Isn't it obvious? To live," he said simply.

"With the Winchesters," she stated. He met my eyes for a moment and the Crowley I had met years before was a small glimpse now.

"They are as much a nuisance to me as they are to you. You need dear old Dean for your diabolical schemes and I know all about your love connection trials with our lovely lass here," he revealed. He knew.  
"What our quick-tongued rogue here won't admit is that it worked, but like her counterpart, she won't let the feelings surface. Had you waited some time and not sent in your little demon to push, they may have already consummated their... complication."

"I'll admit, I was growing impatient," she said.

Crowley's phone vibrated again.  
"Squirrel," he quipped.  
"You do? Well, you need to get it here at once. Cleveland, Humboldt Hotel. Penthouse, of course. When you get here, I'll take you to Abaddon. I'll draw her out, and then you can skewer the ignorant hag," he said happily before whispering to her, "Just selling it."

 

"Yeah, like I said, you need to leave Poughkeepsie right away," he finished before hanging up, smirking at her.

"Nice," she said, returning the devilishness. "But here's the thing -- you've been plotting with those boys for some time now. When they get here, it'll be you, the Winchesters, Emma, the First Blade, and little, old me in one place. Now, I don't mind stiff odds, but let's be reasonable."  
Abaddon lifted her arm and fired off a shot at him. The muscles in me twitched to race to him, but he flexed his hand, glancing at me and I understood, so I sat still, my eye on Abaddon.

"Aah! You lost your mind?" he yelled.

"Little trick I learned from Henry Winchester. I had a Devil's Trap carved in the bullet. You're not seriously damaged, just powerless."  
It was brilliant, but it left one line of defense completely inert. Crowley just sat there, helpless and I could only watch as he had instructed.

"What's your real game, old timer?" she demanded. He hissed through his teeth, looking down at the wound in his arm.

"Two Winchester's is a problem," he grunted, "but so is one Winchester."

"Keep going," her red lips moved.

"You'll have the First Blade, Dean and --"

"Get to the point."

"Our lass here has been a busy bee. You have your desired outcome to build your army, but we know Sam Winchester won't let up easily."

"Sam Winchester is a flea."

"You do not know Sam Winchester or his power to binge on demon blood. Dean is no longer worth anything to him. They haven't exactly been seeing eye-to-eye, but our lass here," he nodded to me, "has him in her grasp like a love sick puppy."

"I'm not just a bargaining chip, am I? I'm bait?" I asked.

"Our own little love triangle," he quipped. "Well, more like a 'V.' I never understood the triangle thing because that connects everybody. That would be a dirty deed, wouldn't --"

"Shut it, Crowley." Abaddon stood and thought for a moment, pacing. He had managed to cover bases Abaddon think were an issue with situations that weren't even happening. He had done his homework and he had brought me here, completely prepared, steps ahead of everyone else.

 

Abaddon fed into his weaving story well enough before Dean bursted through the door and I could see the anger that twisted his face and the bright light emanating from his forearm.

"Hello, Dean," Crowley greeted him calmly. "Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes. Let's not waste time. I'll take you to Abaddon. It's not far --" 

"A boy and his Blade -- and still no match for the new queen," she spewed, revealing herself to the open room. "I'm offering you more, Dean. A throne of your own and an army to be proud of --"  
"Not interested," he said simply.

She swayed her hand in the air and Dean flew to the far wall, the blade gripped tightly in his hand.

"Dean!" I yelled, letting the concern in on my tone. "You need him Abaddon!"

"Sometimes a pet must be housebroken first."  
She smiled at me and Dean barely noticed my presence. He fought against her as I had seen people do over and over against the power of a demon, but this was a Knight yet her grip on him was loosening. He freed himself for a moment and I could only stare astounded, as their opposing powers fought in the air around us. 

Abaddon continued to push on him before he finally gave way and hit the wall again, dropping his blade. With her energy focused on him, I rushed to crawl at it, to reach for it and place it in his capable hands. He was our only solution to this, our only way of taking her out here and now. I felt the push on my body and I was thrown back in the same fashion as Dean. The pain seared in my spine and I dropped to the floor, struggling to keep my eyes open and my mind alert. 

The blade began to rattle on the floor and Dean's open hand began to shake. He called to it and it was willing to respond. Like any demon I had seen before, the item flew at him, gripped comfortably in its home, the Mark, once again, lighting up on his skin. 

The core of the earth pulled at his feet with each step and as he approached her, the look of dark satisfaction ripped his face in two and he drove the blade deep into her belly. His power lifted her and the lightning flashed brightly inside her, blood trickled from her eyes and mouth. Her light faded and she limped to the ground in a satisfying thud, but Dean bent low to meet her again and again and again, the blade still pressed firmly in his hand.

Everything in me was frozen as particles moved around me slowly, the sound of his anger thumping in my ears.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and it was the first time I had noticed him in the midst of the battle, Chives standing along side him.  
"Dean! Dean! Stop! You can stop," he fought to grab his brothers attention and we both saw it, the light in his eyes had burnt out. That flame he fought to hold on to was gone.

 

"You could at least -- aah! -- help me with this," Crowley griped as he dug the bullet from his shoulder. I knew he was speaking to me, but I could only watch the Winchesters, both ignoring my presence.

"We didn't kill you, Crowley, even though it would've been very easy. Isn't that enough?" Sam barked back.

"You owe me. Do I get no credit for warning you this was a trap?" He looked up at Sam's confusion and rolled his eyes.  
"'Poughkeepsie' ring a bell?" he said, watching as Sam and Dean looked to each other.  
"I sense drama," he noted sarcastically.

I moved to my bag still set on the couch and pulled out a small switchblade. Dean refused to look at me, but neither mentioned my name or questioned my presence.

"If it weren't for Em here, I would have had nothing to keep the hag occupied. I needed to cover all my bases, didn't I?" Crowley removed his jacket and I ripped the sleeve, digging my knife into the wound. He hissed at me.  
"I couldn't exactly trust that you would kill the ginger."  
The small bullet sat neatly on the tip of my blade, the surrounding muscle keeping it stabilized as I pushed it to the surface. Dean had balled his bloodied fist and I was unsure who it was meant for first, but he didn't look directly at either of us. Crowley vanished before us, leaving only the creases in the couch seat and a bloodied bullet in my hand.

Sam merely glanced at me before his jaw tightened and he was on to other things. I had nothing for them, no lies, no strength for truth or reason. Sam no longer trusted me and Dean was well aware of the circumstances I left under. Abaddon's death meant no price on my head, but it also meant that I moved in to third place on Dean's list. Chives stood at my side now, looking out as Sam walked Dean from the room. She leaned against me and we both watched the door, the suite vacant and a body left to be disposed of.

For whatever reason, they left me alive, but in silence.


	23. 23. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of and During Episode 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "The End" by Greenwheel

"Is there a reason you let him keep the blade?" I argued loudly, seated lazily in the white chair that sat in front of his desk.

"Not now," Crowley replied, rubbing his eyes. I thought for a moment and he looked truly exhausted, but with what we had dealt with the night before, being kept hostage by Abaddon and Crowley being shot, I could understand it. My mind kept playing the scene over and over, Dean's bloodied hand beating into her extinguished corpse and Sam's face when he saw me.

 _Sam will never forgive me,_ I thought. Why would he? I was no better than his brother. I lied to him, I abandoned them and I told myself I did it for this result; for Abaddon's death, finally. Despite the good news, Crowley still looked troubled. Human blood still affected him despite his not using it for some time. Whatever it was he struggled with internally still seemed to creep to the surface every so often.

"We still have one left, Crowley," I interrupted the silence. "That's not counting Metatron."

"First," he finally spoke. "We have to siphon out the back-stabbing filth."

"Well, that will be easy," I said.

"I don't need your sarcasm. I need your services, now service me!" He yelled. I stared at him for a moment and the sentence registered on his face.

"Gross," I whispered before standing up. Three demons stood at the doorway to Crowley's obnoxiously large new office. The same three that Crowley had promised me. I had thought over and over how I would finally end them, but one thing I had learned about demons was how much they truly hated being demons. They knew how dirty they were and their existence was torture. It's true, a good handful felt fulfilled in their new blackened life, but others did not and my three definitely didn't, especially under my command. They had no choice but to listen to their King and therefore, me.

"Alright kids, that's your cue. Service your king," I demanded. They each looked over the other, disgusted at the thought. "Bring me every single one you can find. _Only_ scum possessions. No innocents, understood?"

They nodded in unison and left.

 

 

It felt like weeks within the hours and I lacked sleep, but the energy surged within me. Demon after demon sat in my chair, in my devils trap, being carved by my blade, swearing allegiance. Crowley assumed I was an enthusiastic participant, but I only focused on one important question.

"Where's Apollyon?" I said softly, tossing bits of holy water on the demon who occupied my chair for the moment. She screamed and sizzled and I could smell her skin burning. I shoved a handful of salt in her mouth before pouring holy water to chase after it. Each demon that sat in my chair had pledged loyalty to Crowley, giving up secrets of plans Abaddon had hoped to put into play. Even in the safety of her death, one last loose end stayed active and he needed to be eliminated, but not many demons ever encountered him. The group that had were all laid to waste by Dean's hand and my own, but after that, it seemed he didn't resurface.

She coughed up blood and I had always found it to be a strange condition of possession. The human body was able to handle salt and water with as little as a twisted facial expression, but during possession, it was liquid fire.

"I don't know who that is!" she lied. Every demon I had met had known Apollyon by name. Abaddon was sure to pass on the lore, to make her intentions clear to her piling army, even despite her close to giving up on Dean and I. Sam had revealed she was collecting souls to turn, but he had thwarted her efforts. 

"That's interesting," I said, placing the tip of my blade against her chest and swiping. Her skin slit open and she yelped against the lit pain.  
"You are the first demon to claim not knowing him. Why are you lying for him?"

She spit at me and I flushed in anger. I had different pet peeves and this was one of them. I drove my blade through her neck.  
"That was rude." She flashed orange and limped.

 

I exited the room, a handful of auburn hair in my hand. Her body dragged heavily against the ground as I went through the main door. One of my demons stood at the door, trapped in his large body, watching the long line of possessed people that stood against the far wall. The other 2 demons paced the line toward the back looking over the frightened faces of their kin.

"Who knows her?" I shouted down the line, dropping the corpse. Faces of varying offenders looked up at me and I walked the line, meeting each one of their eyes before they focused on the corpse.  
I stopped, parallel to a small man who stared down at his feet. He didn't lift his head to look at me and he didn't look at the corpse I had brought out. 

"You," I said, pointing with my blade. He seemed to sweat and shake, but he didn't follow. I removed a small strap from my belt loop and wrapped it around his neck. Small sigils were etched into the flattened fabric and they would hold him until I sat him in my chair. I had taken a small note from the Men of Letters and their forms of capture, something Crowley was not fond of, but allowed. He gave me free reign when it came to this task, offering me whatever resources I deemed necessary. He only wanted the disloyal weeded out and taken care of.

I pushed him into my chair and removed the belt-like leash. The tip end of my blade sat on the demons shoulder and I could feel his body vibrate beneath it. Before I had gathered salt or holy water, his mouth was off and running.

"I'll tell you," he yelped. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. We only ever got orders to follow you. He wanted to stay underground, play right-hand to Abaddon to ensure her plan worked. We were just siding with the strongest player, that's all. I promise. We didn't do anything, we just followed you and sometimes the Winchesters."

"Why did you follow the Winchesters?" I asked, surprised.

"We were told to. They were after the Blade and they have the key."

"Did you know where the blade was hidden?"

"Not until Crowley told them. We followed them to the graveyard, saw the tall pretty one pull it from a corpse."

"How do you know Crowley told them?" My blade sat at his neck and I pressed it against his Adam's apple. "I never mentioned where they got it from."

His mouth hung open but he struggled to form his words.

"Who told you to follow them?" I asked. 

"Apollyon. Direct order."

"Were you ordered to kill the Winchesters?"

He looked at me sideways and remained silent. I pressed the blade closer to his neck, drawing blood. He yelped again.

"No. We weren't allowed to touch them! Please don't kill me. I'll be loyal, I swear. I'll do anything!"

My eyes moved frantically in my head as I pieced his information to the things I knew and had seen. This didn't make any sense. How could he know Crowley was in contact with the Winchesters? How would he know of Abaddon's meeting unless she told Apollyon? Had Apollyon knew, why had he not interjected?

"Please," he cried. I absent-mindedly slid my blade across his throat and he gurgled his pleas as I left the room.

"Send them all off and get me Crowley," I demanded.

 

Crowley usually kept me waiting, but this was longer than normal. He had regained his power and therefore, his schedule. He called the business meetings, but really all he did was meet with higher ranks and weed out the disloyal. It wasn't something he'd ever assign to me, I was still just human and ordering me to kill his 'big money' would only dent his reputation. He hoped to regain his seat with a long trail of blood. 'A violent reintroduction to proper authority' he called it. Whatever it was, it kept us further apart and I found it frustrating. No one was able to get information faster than him, and yet he set me up with the petty work, to research on my own, to track on my own.

The three demons promised to me worked behind me cleaning my deemed torture chamber as I paced in it. One ran the hose along the floor, standing just outside the Devil's trap, letting the bloodied water flow into the drain. The other two packed away my tools, sharpened them when needed and restocked if I asked. Crowley kept following up with promises and this was one I wasn't sure about holding on to. The days I spent with them, running this room, seemed to sink into my skin. It made Chives uncomfortable every night I came home to her. I knew she could smell it on me and I watched her distance from me further and further. I could see the disappointment in her face and the confusion sometimes when I'd come home late. I did my best to keep her from them, at first. Their presence and smells made her uncomfortable, but now I was dragging it home to her and I began to hate myself for it.

"He's ready," one of my demons called. I nodded.

"Finish up here," I commanded. "And don't get yourself stuck again, please. I'll just leave you there this time."

 

After one long elevator ride to his private room, I made it to Crowley's doors. The demon accompanying me knocked lightly and Crowley's voice followed, "Come in."

"This is getting ridiculous," I said, walking in. "You have eighteen different entrances just to get in here."

"Well," he said softly. "They don't seem to matter." 

A figure walked in through the opening that led to an adjoining room in Crowley's large office. His thin face held a curled smile directed at me and everything in me drained.

"Make a note to get our security updated," Crowley quipped.

"Emma, dear," he spoke affectionately. "How good it is to see you. You've grown."  
I unsheathed my blade, but before I brought it down to level, he had snatched it and tossed it in the wind that manipulated to his gestures.

"There will be no need for that. I only came to speak with you. Both of you," he said looking to Crowley. He strode across the room and his walk seemed to morph into a glide, before sitting in one of Crowley's bright white one-seater couches. Everything under my skin vibrated with fear and rage and it took some fight to keep from blacking out.

"Tea?" he asked Crowley, politely. Crowley nodded at the demon who had accompanied me in the room and he turned to leave.  
"Emma, do sit please. There's no need to be abrasive."  
Crowley looked at me and nodded toward one of the couches across from the demon, but I didn't have it in me to move. 

"Darling, please don't be rude," Crowley finally spoke and my body moved, finally settling in the chair just after Crowley had seemingly willed a sheet to lay on top of the pristine white fabric. My clothes were dried and crusted with blood of meat-suits demons had held to as I hacked at them. It crackled against the cloth and flakes sprinkled next to me.

"You've been busy," the demon noted.

"Well, the ginger bitch is dead," I said hoarsely. His eyes shot up and widened a little before his expression softened at me.

"That is why I'm here actually."

"Oh?" Crowley spoke. "Well, I'm sure we can find a spot for a creature with your -- status."  
The demon laughed politely as one of Crowley's men brought in a small serving tray with three china cups, a tea kettle, and small plate of crackers. Apollyon nodded at the demon in thanks, muttering 'lovely' under his breath and he picked up a small plate and accompanying cup. The steam rose in the glass, but he drank it with no effort.

"Actually," I spoke up. "He's come to find a spot for _you_ , Crowley. Isn't that right, Apollyon?"

His lips curled, sharpening the corners of his lips and he seemed almost shy, but Crowley's expression had become grim before he finally broke out into laughter. I kept my sights on the creature in front of me as he waited patiently for Crowley to quiet, but he looked at him with all seriousness through his fit.

"Polly, you must be joking," Crowley finally caught on to the silence.

"He's not, _King._ He's been following the first Blade since you took it." Crowley's fear registered for a moment before he grew angry.

"You convinced Abaddon to make the deal with Crowley, didn't you? You scared her into joining him so he would lure Dean there. You knew she would die," I spat.

"You're a very clever girl. Did all that dried flesh you wear reveal my secrets to you?"

"Only a small portion of it before I split each one of them open. The rest I put together myself."

"Dear girl, your limbs would fall from your body before you found each one of my little birds." Crowley continued to stare and it was the longest amount of silence I had ever witnessed from him. "I did not come here to reveal my secrets to you. I came here to discuss business matters."

"Business matters?" Crowley asked.

"Yes, about my throne."


	24. I see Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of Episode 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song:  
> "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran

Crowley belted out a laugh that I had never thought him capable of in all his calm, frightening demeanor. 

"We've done this dance before or haven't you noticed? Abaddon is dead," he spat proudly.

"Yes, it took some hard efforts on my part, but I thought it played out quite poetically," he said, rubbing his long finger along his chin.

"What of Ragnarok? What of Dean and I? It's safe to say that plan won't work. He'd stab me with a knife before he'd consider stabbing me with anything else," I said bluntly.

"My dear, there's no need for graphic drawings here. Abaddon was running out of options, try as she might. Harboring souls took too long, drew too much attention, but it was never going to work, even with _you_ and that other creature building an army. She should have learned the first time around. Truly, she was lost."

"So you saw she was unfit to lead, I guess," I said.

"Oh yes. She had no vision, no spark --"

"I am a very capable leader," Crowley argued. 

"Oh please. Before Abaddon arrived, you turned hell into the butt of a bad joke. You're soft. You deal with humans, keep them as _pets_ when they should be eradicated. You don't think your plans through either, _King._ "

The room began to vibrate and Crowley's eyes darted from corner to corner, his face slumped with annoyance.

"By all means, answer the call. See for yourself," Apollyon said, pleased with himself and in a short moment, Crowley disappeared, leaving me to face my enemy alone.

 

"What's your game?" I asked, finally.

"Don't worry, my dear, I won't leave you alone," he said and with a swing of his hand the double doors to Crowley's office opened without effort and a small woman in a black dress strode in. Her skin was pale, the dress neatly pressed and not a speck of lint on it. Her long dark hair swept down her back, a thin strand or two running along her front. Her hands were clasped together and her mouth tightly shut, but she looked content. Apollyon stood and offered his seat to her. She accepted quietly and he left us in the thick air, alone.

I clutched the arms of the chair I sat in so tightly that pain began to radiate in my finger tips. I was seeing a ghost, a move he had used once before, but not like this, not so close to me.

"Lily," I breathed, almost inaudibly. She looked up at me and the honey that had been so vibrant in her eyes once, was layered with white fog. I swallowed hard and the lump in my throat struggled to move down. Instead it sat thickly and threatened to close off my airways. 

"I --" I began, but the words hurt to form. She kept her eyes set on mine and only every so often she'd blink as if out of habit. The light bruising around her neck stayed visible in her still stature. She wanted it to remain visible, to remind me what I had done. My eyes boiled and I chose a different point of the room to focus on, threatening her with my silence. Apollyon was toying with me in the only way he knew how, but he had played this trick before and I had fought it once already.

"I have a gift for you," her soft voice said. I tightly shut my eyes and her voice echoed in my head, the tears threatening to escape but I held on. The doors opened once more and a tall curvy figure strutted in, her white smile curling at the ends of her lips and her eyes wrinkling in the joy she expressed. Auburn hair cascaded down against her shoulders, contrasting with her light skin and black dress. Her heels clicked against the floor and my breath caught in my throat, rendering me completely paralyzed.

"Hello Emma," she said, my name like silk on her tongue. She moved swiftly to sit along side Lily, on the arm rest of Crowley's white couch. She placed her hand on Lily's head as Lily moved in to lean against her. 

"K-Kate," I choked. She looked pristine, perfectly preserved with the exception of the small hole that sat in the middle of her forehead. "Oh God," I struggled to breath and I wondered who would even hear me.

Angels fought their own war, Demons still scattered in the wind to avoid conflict of it's new fighting powers, Hunters were scarce and the only two I knew, hated me, all while humans remained oblivious to the real world around them. My body creaked with stillness as dry sobs vibrated in my chest.

"I'm -- " I tried. "I'm so sorry," I finally managed before caving in, the tears flowing through like a broken dam. My body buckled in and I slipped from the chair, my knees thudding to the ground.

"Shh, no no," she whispered in my ear. Her hand caressed my hair, while the other rubbed my back. It felt like being touched by the sun after years of darkened torture. She held me and she felt just as she had years ago.  
"My love," she spoke softly. "We are not here to harm you."

She loosened her hold on me as I sat up and her bright earthly eyes stared back at me, a small smile placed softly on her lips.

"You did what you had to," she reasoned. "I hold no anger for defending yourself against evil."

"Emma," Lily's small voice echoed. "You tried for us. You tried to save us."

"We still love you, both of us. We haven't forgotten about you, my love." She bent low and kissed a small spot on my cheek before wiping away the wetness on my cheek. Lily had made her way to kneel next to us and she looked into me, the fog in her eyes fading, the bruising on her neck and Kate's bullet wound following suit. They looked alive and colorful and they stared back at me, smiling through watery eyes. Lily lunged forward, knocking Kate slightly out of the way and she held on to me, her full force gripping me. She cried into my shoulder and I matched her strength, breaking through sobs, rocking us. I looked up at Kate, who smiled down at me, tears streaking softly down her own cheeks.

"Stay with us," Lily begged as she broke our hug, looking up at me through pleading eyes. I wiped her face and smiled down at her.

"Come home," Kate begged. "We can be together still --"

"Forever," Lily finished. "Forever and ever. We won't have to leave each other."

I collected myself for a moment, holding each of their hands in one of my own and I absently rubbed my thumb along their knuckles. They felt real completely; their love, their tears, their smiles, their skin, and their smells. Kate wiped at another loose tear on my cheek and I leaned in to her touch, before meeting their eyes.

"What do I have to do?" I asked.

 

 

The papers shuffled in Crowley's office as he appeared, standing near his desk. He leaned over it for a moment, catching himself, as if to relieve exhaustion. 

"Well, they're as stubborn as they'll ever be," he said before looking up at me. His face registered the red puffiness in mine and his expression melted to confusion.

"Crowley," I said softly and the doors opened behind me, Apollyon standing centered, Lily and Kate accompanying him.

"No," he said. "We had a deal!"

"My dear _King_ ," Apollyon spoke. "Some deals outweigh others." Kate and Lily stood proudly on his sides, like trophies, but they weren't for him. This was my deal, my gifts in exchange for my loyalty. Always my loyalty.

Kate and Lily stood at my side as Apollyon continued his strut toward Crowley. 

"It must be difficult," Apollyon said, each word carefully pronounced. "To have nothing."

 

"Not quite," I said, slipping the Angel Blade from the back seam of my jeans. I gripped it tightly in my hand as he turned to look back at me, his face filled with confusion and it was exactly what I had searched for all along. The blade slid smoothly through his gut and upwards before meeting with his bones and the friction vibrated in the blade, sending tingles into my hand. I kept a tight hold on the grip as he sparked, his eyes blooming dark red, and the electricity sizzled through him, sending small shocks through my own hand. I had waited too long for this moment and as his body gave way, he fell lifeless to the ground of Crowley's office.

His light faded and I kept watch on it, catching every glimpse of him hollowing out. I looked up at Crowley, who could not hold a moment to be proud as he looked past me. As I turned, hands reached out for me, muffled screams and shouts of betrayal and loss. Kate and Lily writhed within themselves as they began to fade in to the atmosphere. They weren't lost to the world, they were placed back into their daily torturous routine, no longer safe bargaining chips at Apollyon's side. 

I hadn't felt anything after they disappeared and the emptiness hollowed me out and I feared I looked the way his corpse did, settled comfortably in the middle of the office. The blade still seemed to vibrate in my hand even before I sliced through the three demons Crowley had given me. I hadn't remembered moving to them, but I felt the blood seep into my already crusted clothing and it tickled my skin and drenched my hair.

"Love," he said softly and the sound made me flinch. He stayed a safe distance away as he stared at me, keeping his voice and stance calm, the blade still gripped in my hand.  
"I know this may not be the best time, but there's something I need to tell you."

 

The walls began to vibrate in the office and I knew he was being summoned again. Reporting demons filed in one after the other, equipped with follow up pieces of information connected with the other. Abaddon was dead, Apollyon was dead, and Metatron had been captured, but worse news followed and it was now violently shaking the building. 

Crowley snapped his fingers and I felt refreshed and clean. I could feel the air on my skin again, it no longer having to beat through layers of dried blood. My clothes were freshly pressed and my boots almost new. Before I had time to fully register that Crowley had cleaned me up, he placed a hand on my shoulder and we stood in Dean's bedroom, in the bunker.

He lay lifeless, covered in what I could only assume was his own blood. The walls continued to shake as the summoning called to Crowley.

"Love," he said softly. "I have a delicate task for you."  
I nodded, still staring at Dean's corpse, but I understood what he wanted of me. Despite his demonic ways, Crowley still held on to some humanity and it played off as a weakness, but it was the only quality that kept me from breaking my deal with him. 

"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak," I heard him say to the emptiness as I left. 

_Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so -- expected._

 

The hallway seemed longer than I had remembered it to be and the silence of the underground building deafened me.

 

_You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really._

 

Door after door lined the hallway in even succession, all locked in secrets.

 

_I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But -- there is one story about Cain that I might have -- forgotten to tell you._

 

My shoulders felt heavier the more I carried out my deal. We had all sacrificed so much, but there was no time to grieve for me. For my reopened seeping wounds.

 

_Apparently, he too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation?_

 

The end of my tunnel had come and the light leaked into the elongated hallway. He knelt down on the concrete, a small bowl of fire sitting in front of him.

 

_It wasn't until you summoned me -- No, it wasn't truly until you left that cheeseburger uneaten -- that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true._

 

The sight of him weighed in my belly, but his name was like whiskey on my tongue. He woke me.  
"Sam," I breathed. 

 

_Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now -- it's not death. It's life -- a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel._

 

His face was red and puffy and he stared at me in disbelief. Tears had burned at the back of my eyes, but none fell. I had none left, all spent on Kate and Lily, and my own loss. But this was Sam's burden now and I still felt the weight of it as he looked in to me, desperate and utterly alone. How was I supposed to tell him? To tell him what Crowley feared, what we all feared, what had come to pass -- 

_And let's go take a howl at that moon._

 

 

**END**


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